


A New Kind of Game

by Supersteffy



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Bonding, Gay Sex, LLF Comment Project, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Yami no Game | Shadow Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 11:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supersteffy/pseuds/Supersteffy
Summary: Bakura has resigned himself to an eternity in the Shadows when someone or something pulls him back to the living world--and Marik's apartment. The two of them grow closer as they work together, alongside some old enemies, to prevent Zorc from dragging Bakura back into the Darkness for good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ! ADDITIONAL CONTENT WARNING: Some non-consensual light touching between Zorc and Bakura in the beginning, but nothing overly sexual. Graphic depiction of Marik's initiation. Explicit consentual sex. PTSD and disassociation depiction.

Thanks to Sitabethel and ChaosRocket for beta'ing this! Thanks also to Distracted Dream for a great fanmix, which you can find [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/distracteddream/playlist/5IqrNeGlHo3Btwo6qO9b3a?si=L9hMYYPr), and to girahimu_sama for the beautiful fanart pictured below, which you can find [here](http://dmbakura.tumblr.com/post/164881758001/my-drawing-for-superubersteffys-fic-a-new-kind-of).

* * *

 

Bakura listened to the whispers of power and murmurs of cruel intent as the Darkness stirred to life around him. He knew what the rise in excitement indicated, but he couldn't summon the energy to care. Instead, he allowed his eyes to remain closed, as if he slept, pretending for a moment he merely dreamed. Then the Shadows coalesced--he could feel the drop in pressure, the shift in gravity--and spoke.

 “What, no hello?”

 Bakura lazily opened one eye in acknowledgement and scrutinized the figure before him. “Ryou? Really? You must be running out of ideas.”

 Ryou's pale face--twin to Bakura’s current visage--smirked down at him, his eyes flooded a glowing, unearthly red. Other than the eyes and the expression, which couldn't have been less like his ex-host, the illusion was well done. Not that it was particularly difficult to pull off. After all, Zorc had spent as much time sharing headspace with Ryou as Bakura had.

 “I grow weary of our usual games. You seem to have lost all fight; your apathy takes all the fun out of torturing you.”

 “What’s to fight for? I'm trapped in this shithole with you for eternity since the Pharoah’s true death sealed us in, and I've lost all connection to the Ring, so no loophole this time. With the Pharaoh gone, I've got no enemy to pursue, and with my fellow villagers released from their curse and passed on, my mission is over. And on top of it all, no matter how much you torture and eviscerate me, I can't die, seeing as how I'm already dead. So _what_ exactly do you expect me to fight for?”

 Physical agony--if a bodiless spirit could claim to feel such a sensation--consumed Bakura, as if invisible flames engulfed him, but other than a reflexive grunt he showed no reaction. It was only pain after all, and he’d experienced too much pain for far too long for it to affect him much.

 Zorc twisted Ryou’s face in a snarl, his ember eyes narrowing as the pain fizzled out.

 “Nothing! You give me NOTHING!”

 “I already told you,” Bakura huffed dully from the ‘ground.’ “I have nothing left to give.”

 Zorc roared, which sounded bizarre in Ryou’s normally soft voice. “Then perhaps we just need to find the right motivation.”

In a blink Ryou was gone, his image replaced with a doppelgänger of the hated Pharaoh Atem, and Bakura snorted.

 “Nice try, but I couldn't give two shits about that Sphinx-fucker.”

 The Pharaoh smirked down at him before melding into another familiar figure.

 The desiccated image of his mother was one of Zorc’s favorites. Once it had devastated Bakura, just as Zorc forcing Bakura to relive the burning of his village once had, but Bakura had made peace with that day once the curse had been lifted and his family freed. So with the survivor’s guilt these images had once preyed upon resolved, only the faintest twinges of grief and loneliness stirred in his chest.

 “Really Zorc, your attempts are getting--desperate…”

 He trailed off as his mother’s ruined form melted into the next. Burnt and ravaged skin healed to reform whole--flawless, nut-brown strung tight over fuller arms and broad shoulders, all well-defined and hard with muscle. The face thinned and sharpened, the hair shortening and lightening in an instant, an ancient alchemy transforming charcoal into pure, priceless gold. The last thing to change was the eyes, which had lost their demonic glow to complete the illusion. Instead of ruby, Bakura’s clay eyes met vibrant amethyst, and the triumphant smirk Zorc spread across thin lips for once added credibility to the lie instead of giving it away.

 “Looks like I found a winner.”

 

 

 

 

X

 

Bakura’s breath caught at the voice, and he shook his head, denying the illusion before it could ensnare him.

 “What makes you think this face is going to get any more out of me than all the others you've tried?”

 “It already has.”

 Zorc stepped closer, his hips swaying slightly, and Bakura licked his lips unthinkingly.

 “I hate to break it to you, but the feelings this face invokes aren't the sort that lend themselves well to torture.”

 “This won't be like our other games.”

 The Shadows wrapped around Bakura and took on substance, forming into a chair--one he was suddenly tied to.

 “What the hell?!”

 “There are so many different kinds of torture. You have no idea what I'm capable of.”

 “After our first stint together, I'd say I have a pretty good idea.”

 An amused hum reverberated in the doppelgänger’s throat as he circled the chair, his fingers skimming lightly up Bakura's arm, across his back, and down the front of his blue and white striped tee. Bakura shivered and Zorc chuckled, the throaty sound so reminiscent of Bakura’s old partner that it made his stomach and heart clench.

 “Hmm...You know, I'm actually a little surprised at you, pet. If I hadn't destroyed your soul millennia ago, I'd almost think you felt something for this boy.”

 “It’s called lust, Zorc. In case you forgot, I've been celibate for thousands of years.”

 “Is that all it is? Let's put that to the test, shall we?”

 In a flash Zorc was on him, straddling his lap and kissing him with lips and tongue. Bakura struggled to pull back, but Zorc’s grip on his hair combined with the bindings--which felt like air but had all the give and durability of steel--held him at bay. He could feel the Darkness sinking into him, seeking, and gooseflesh peppered his skin when he felt Zorc enter his mind.

 “No,” Bakura moaned into the kiss.

 Sealed memories sprang to the forefront of his thoughts: memories of hair a purer gold than the Millennium Items, and eyes far more dangerous. Every illicit fantasy he'd had about Marik surfaced, but those weren't the thoughts Bakura was concerned about--those thoughts came next. He saw fleeting dreams of foregone revenge and peaceful nights wrapped in arms as warm and comforting as fresh baked bread, fancies of breakfast together and long, meaningful conversations--of truly getting to know another human being on a deeper level.

 Hopes of loving and being wanted in return.

 Zorc sat back and sighed, drinking it all in.

 “So many emotions. I thought I broke you of those ages ago.”

 A manipulative grin cut across Zorc's borrowed lips, his amethyst eyes narrowing. The look alone had Bakura's breath speeding up with a mix of fear and misplaced desire.

 “He must have been special. In no time at all he inspired you to rediscover the humanity I'd worked so hard to strip away.”

 “Ryou did that, during our tabletop session with Yugi and his groupies.”

 Zorc tilted Marik’s head thoughtfully. “True, but you only felt protective of the host. That was mostly harmless. It wasn't until you began to grow attached to the Tomb Keeper that you considered betraying me. Remember?”

 Bakura swallowed, all his memories of Battle City bombarding him: meeting Marik, and Bakura’s rash decision to work together, despite never having worked in tandem with anyone in his existence; Marik turning to him in his darkest hour; the fierce and inexplicable regret when Ra’s attack engulfed them, burning Marik’s spirit to the Shadows; the unshakable sense of empathy and kinship Bakura felt when he saw the Pharaoh’s Memories savagely etched into Marik’s back. He avoided thinking of these things most of the time, keeping them locked deep in his mind where Zorc couldn't get to them. Now, like a sandstorm, they assaulted him all at once, a whirlwind of nostalgia that left him feeling hollow and raw.

 The memories hurt, far worse than dashed hopes and pointless dreams and unfulfilled fantasies. Because the memories were real.

 Bakura flinched as bronze fingers wiped salt from his cheeks, then stared in disgust as Zorc sucked them clean. An uncomfortable mix of revulsion and arousal writhed in Bakura’s belly, the confused emotions only deepening when those same hands started working languid circles into his thighs. Bakura tried to close his legs, but not-ropes held them captive to the legs of the chair.

 “Zorc…” he ground out, jerking to try and buck the hands off. “Stop. This is pointless.”

 “I disagree.” Zorc leaned close, his mouth toying with Bakura’s ear, and Bakura was suddenly overwhelmed by the authenticity of the illusion.

 Unlike when he’d pretended to be Ryou, and the Pharaoh, and even Bakura’s mother, Zorc hadn’t skimped on subtleties this time. He didn't just look and sound like Marik; every detail was perfect: the scent of musk, cumin, and expensive perfume was spot on; the attractive air of warring self-assuredness and self-depreciation was evident with every smirk and snort of amusement; the undeniable gravity Marik carried with him pulled at Bakura as if it were real.

 A groan betrayed him as Zorc’s fingers teased over the tented zipper of Bakura’s jeans.

 “You've been so lonely your whole life,” Marik’s voice commiserated against his ear. “Don't you want to know how it feels to be accepted? What it’s like to let someone get close? Don't you want to know...what it feels like to hold him? I can give you that.”

 “Fuck off,” Bakura rasped.

 Zorc pulled back an inch and looked Bakura over.

 “I think you’re going to enjoy this game.”

 “I already don’t.”

 “But the game has barely started.”

 Zorc stood and strolled around behind Bakura’s chair, out of his line of sight, but a moment later Bakura felt hot lips on his neck. They trailed up to work the sensitive area behind his ear, and Bakura struggled to remember this was _not_ Marik. His manifested body wasn’t interested in listening though. It liked the feel of bronze hands toying with his chest through his shirt, the body-warmed scent drifting around him like an opium cloud. Bakura’s breathing grew ragged as trickles of sensation built in his gut.

 “Mmm, you look good tied to that chair,” Marik’s voice purred.

 “Stop,” he whispered. “Please stop.”

 He knew he shouldn't beg, that that would only incite the demon to torture him further, but the words left his mouth before he could censor them.

 “Come on, Bakura. It could be so good if you let it.”

 A hand slipped beneath his shirt to thumb his nipple in slow circles.

 “I’m not going to ask for that. You're not Marik, and I refuse to play your sick game.”

 A derisive snort tickled his neck. Another warm thumb wriggled into his pants and massaged the tender juncture where groin met hips, and Bakura’s dick throbbed.

 “But I want you,” Marik's voice moaned, mouthing Bakura's ear. “I've missed you so much.”

 “Zorc, I said stop!”

 “Say my name, Bakura,” Zorc challenged.

 Bakura shook his head. The hands stilled and Zorc hissed.

 “I could just take you--possibly as the Pharaoh? Would you like that better?”

 “If you wanted to force me you'd have done so already,” Bakura jeered. “Some sick part of you wants me complicit in the act, and I won't give you that. I won't settle for an illusion.”

 Zorc came around in front of Bakura, teeth bared. “Fine, if you don't like _this_ illusion, perhaps another will hold your interest more.”

 Suddenly Bakura was in a tomb, sandstone walls and floors painted orange and gold with the flickering light of a brazier and dozens of candles. The room was stifling, and Bakura instantly felt sweat gathering at his temples and where his shirt clung to him.

 A crude stone altar was centered in the small chamber, its top and sides stained with what looked ominously like old blood under the accumulated dust. Ropes were affixed to pegs on each corner, all likewise dyed with the blood of past victims. A sudden chill settled along Bakura's spine despite the heat, and a frisson of panic had him starting when footsteps shuffled near the door.

 A man carrying a knife, bandages, and some sort of salve strode in and placed them on a small table near the alter. There seemed to be more coals than actual flame in the brazier, and Bakura was grateful when the man didn't build it back up.

 The stranger was dressed plainly in a hooded robe of coarse, beige cloth. His face resembled Aknadin’s, but Bakura noticed he didn’t have the Millennium Eye. Other gold gleamed in the depths of the hood, and when he focused his eyes, Bakura could make out a familiar pair of earrings.

 “Wait, is that…?” Bakura stared at the stranger, and the longer he looked, the more the resemblance became undeniable. “That's Marik's father, isn't it?”

 “How perceptive,” Zorc drawled from beside him, his form still that of Marik.

 “But this isn't my memory.”

 “You aren't the only pathetic soul I can extract memories from.”

 Bakura returned his attention to the Tomb Keeper, who seemed oblivious to their conversation as he used the knife to stir the coals. Then a voice arose in the distance before drawing near, its pleas accompanied by steady footsteps. Bakura instinctively knew what he was about to witness, the dread in his gut compounding even before a ten year old Marik was dragged wailing into the room.

 “No! Father, please! Please don't do this.”

 Tears and snot streamed down the boy’s face as he was brought before his father. The Tomb Keeper slapped him, and Marik lowered his head, sniffling quietly.

 “That is no way for a future Tomb Keeper to act.” Even reflected with the flames of countless candles, the elder Ishtar’s gaze held no heat. “Secure him.”

 Marik protested and fought, nearly escaping his two captors, but the two men inevitably overpowered him. They fastened his wrists and ankles to the altar, so tight he couldn't even struggle. Then a bone wrapped in more rope was forced between his teeth and tied behind his head.

 Mr. Ishtar pulled the knife from the heat, the blade glowing like Zorc’s eyes. The room filled with agonized screams and the metallic whiff of fresh blood as the first incision was made. Marik’s head bowed back, his screams echoing off the chamber walls despite the bit.

 Bakura’s chair sat so that Marik and his father both faced him. Bakura turned his head as Marik’s soulful cries washed over him, saturated with fear and pain and sorrow. It was the same cry that had haunted Kul Elna for three thousand years, and Bakura felt once again like a helpless seven-year-old, powerless to do anything but watch and listen as others suffered in the Pharaoh’s name.

 A hand forced Bakura’s face forward once more. “You will watch.”

 He knew if he disobeyed, Zorc would simply come up with something even worse, so he did watch, and felt his already tattered soul breaking all over again. The pain and fear were too raw on young Marik’s face, and Bakura felt unbidden tears paint his cheeks to match the boy’s. Cut after cut after cut he cried out, even after his voice grew course from use, and Bakura wanted to scream along with him.

 How long did it go on for? Two hours? Three? Longer? Bakura couldn’t tell, each second bleeding into the next as steadily as Marik bled onto the altar. So Bakura counted in screams and sobs, until he lost the will to count any higher. Yet the cycle of cut, scream, heat knife, sob kept going.

 But Marik’s misery wasn’t the only thing weighing on Bakura’s heart. As he watched Marik’s father heat the knife for an innumerable time, Bakura noticed the man was smiling, as if he were engaging in his favorite hobby rather than torturing his own son. Then Bakura thought perhaps the two were one in the same, and a rage as hot as the one he’d felt toward the Pharaoh ignited in Bakura’s chest.

 The knife was carving into Marik once more, and Bakura’s attention pulled back to him when he noticed a change in the boy’s shouts. Instead of the fearful, pleading screams from before, each cry was unfiltered rage and pain.  The tension in Marik’s face was pure loathing and hatred, and Bakura knew it was Marik’s alter ego that glared blindly at him.

 “...Marik…” he breathed. The atmosphere surrounding him seemed to compress, to weigh on him.

 Marik’s alter jerked against his bonds hard enough to bruise his wrists.

 “Lie still!” Tomb Keeper Ishtar warned. Marik’s body jerked again with a growl. Setting the knife aside, the elder Ishtar fisted his hair and yanked his head back viciously.

 Bakura hissed, jerking against his own bonds.

 “If you cause even one cut to be out of place, this initiation will be the least of your worries,” the older man barked. He forced Marik’s head back down before picking the knife back up.

 More cuts, more screams, until, overcome with blood loss and pain, Marik fell mercifully unconscious.

 “Weakling,” the Tomb Keeper spat, eyes transfixed to the blood sizzling on the knife as he heated it anew.

 Bakura bit back a curse the man wouldn’t have heard anyway.

 “So sad,” Zorc sighed. He stood with his arms crossed, as if he were merely watching a spectator sport.

 “Don’t pretend you feel empathy for him,” Bakura growled.

 “I meant your sentiment. You used to be so strong, so proud, so--”

 “Soulless?”

 Zorc turned a slick grin toward him. “Hardly that, or you wouldn’t be here now. I was going to say ruthless.”

 “Glad to disappoint.”

 Bakura focused on Marik’s face, peaceful in repose and blissfully unaware of his continued mutilation.

 Zorc sighed loudly. “This is getting boring.”

 The scene shifted. They were surrounded by the same sandstone walls, only this time Marik lay on a pallet in a smaller room. His face was buried in the pillow his hands had a strangle grip on. Rishid knelt beside him, strips of linen piled on the bed.

 “Ready?” he asked Marik quietly.

 A shiver visibly shook Marik, but a moment later he nodded.

 Rishid gently stripped away the bandages wrapped around Marik’s torso. Muffled whimpers drifted up from the pillow.

 Marik sobbed as Rishid cleaned and broke open his wounds anew. The sound wrenched at Bakura’s already bleeding heart, and Bakura choked to keep from voicing his own agony.

 “No more,” Bakura croaked, streams wetting his cheeks. “Please.”

He expected Zorc to ignore him, or to laugh and show him another, even worse scene, or perhaps to find a whole new means of making Bakura’s existence a living nightmare. When Zorc moved in front of him and held his chin delicately between his thumb and forefinger, Bakura flinched.

 “Ah, now there’s the reaction I was after.”

 Bakura gazed listlessly past Zorc as Rishid finished his task, taking the old bandages out of the room. Marik’s re-ravaged back shook with muffled cries.

 “I’ve got other pathetic souls to see to,” Zorc said at length. “But I wouldn’t want you to get lonely, so I think I’ll let you stay with him. We’ll continue this game soon.”

 Zorc dissolved back into the Shadows, and the bindings and chair holding Bakura went with him. Bakura collapsed to the dusty floor,  Marik’s wails filling his ears.

 “Marik, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed to no one. He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for, except that he felt like someone should.

 So he cried with Marik. He cried because there was nothing else he could do. He cried because this was only the beginning, with no end in sight. He cried for what could have been and what would never be, and as he cried, he repeated Marik’s name like a prayer, and all the while the darkness pressed in on him, smothering him in his weakened state.

 All of the memories and dreams and fantasies Zorc had unearthed swarmed his mind like locusts, draining his battered soul to a hollow husk. Marik’s face--his _real_ face, the way Bakura remembered him--was all Bakura saw, and it hurt to think about.

 The pressure bearing down on him grew more intense with each passing moment, until it was painful. Bakura wished he could die all over again, wished the gods would take him from here. He’d gladly face judgement, would crawl into Ammit’s maw willingly if it meant an end to it all…

 The pressure suddenly snapped. A strange warmth spread from Bakura’s core to his extremities at the same time his stomach jerked painfully. Bakura snapped his eyes open as a sensation like free falling overwhelmed him, but his mind couldn't make sense of what he saw.

 Instead of the tomb chamber, or even unending darkness, Bakura found himself surrounded by spinning colors. The sight made him nauseous. Gradually the room slowed its dance before stopping, and Bakura groaned, questioning whether it was possible to throw up when one didn't have an actual stomach.

 A gasp from nearby caught his ear, and Bakura turned his head to see Zorc standing a few feet away looking gobsmacked.

 “The fuck did you do to me?” Bakura moaned.

 “B-Bakura?”

 Something in the tone made Bakura sit up and stare back.

 Marik looked older, the face filled out and matured, but no less attractive than the last time Bakura had seen him. Instead of the purple hoodie Bakura associated exclusively with Marik, he wore a too-tight black t-shirt that read “I’m sarcastic because punching people is frowned upon” over a pair of dark blue, satin sleep pants. The look was certainly different, but somehow still suited him.

 “Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”

  _Good questions_ , Bakura thought, but replied instead with, “Where is here?”

 “My apartment. In Domino.” Marik took a hesitant step forward. Stopped.

 That's when Bakura noticed a distinct quiet in his mind. For the first time in living memory, there were no tortured souls begging for salvation or retribution, no host’s thoughts overshadowing his own--no Zorc. His mind was his own, and that realization was breathtaking. Then he focused on Marik again, hardly daring to hope…

 For a moment, Bakura just stared. Before he’d registered the thought to even get off the floor, he was across the room, his lips on Marik's. They stayed frozen like that, then Marik jerked back and slapped Bakura in the face.

 “What the _fuck_ Bakura? You can't just drop in out of thin air-- _literally_ \--and fucking kiss me without so much as an explanation!”

 But Bakura wasn't listening, too busy cackling joyously, his hand still on his stinging cheek.

 “This is real,” he said in awe. “This is really happening.”

 Marik's look shifted to one of concern. “Are you alright?”

 “I'm…” Bakura felt a slight cross breeze across his skin and looked down. “I-I'm naked!”

 Bakura frantically reached for the nearest thing he could find to cover himself with, which happened to be a couch cushion. At least he wasn’t still gloriously aroused.

 Marik snorted. “Yeah, good cover.”

 Bakura glared at him, cheeks heating, but before he could retort, Marik was striding past him.

 “Wait, where are you…?”

 But Marik was already back, tossing a red pair of sleep pants similar to the ones he himself wore.

 “Try these.”

 Bakura obeyed, slipping on the bottoms quickly and tying the strings.

 “Better?”

 Bakura nodded.

 “Good.” Marik's arms crossed over his chest and an eyebrow jumped up to play hide and seek with his bangs. “Alright, seriously, Bakura. What the hell is going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
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>   * Questions
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>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t know where to start. How had he escaped the Shadows when they were sealed? Especially without the Ring. How did he have a body? And why had he materialized in Marik’s apartment?

Questions spun around Bakura’s aching head, and he rubbed his brow. In an instant Marik was there, grabbing Bakura’s arm and leading him backward to the couch.

“What--?”

“You were swaying on your feet.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t noticed with everything in the room seeming to move on its own.

“Start from the beginning,” Marik suggested, his hands hovering beside Bakura, ready to catch him at a moment’s notice. “Where did you come from?”

“The Shadow Realm.”

Marik pursed his lips in thought. “I thought Atem sealed the Shadows?”

Bakura grimaced at the mention of his long-time enemy, but shrugged and answered. “So had I. They were suppose to close off with his True Death.”

“Then how?”

Bakura shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Last I knew I was with Zorc and surrounded by darkness, then I felt this pull and I was on the floor looking up at you. You look older.”

Marik laughed at the unexpected change of subject. “I would assume so, seeing as how it’s been almost five years.” Then he frowned, taking in Bakura’s naked, pale torso. “And I’m not the only one who looks different.”

Bakura looked down his own body and realized Marik was right. If he’d thought about it, he would have expected his body to look brand new, or at least just have the same scars as Ryou, given that the body resembled him. But more scars were visible than he remembered Ryou having, like a strange oblong scar near his belly button that matched the knife wound on his left bicep. Most of them were faded and not very obvious against the pale skin.

Bakura jerked back when Marik reached out and stroked a thumb under Bakura’s right eye. Marik pulled back.

“Sorry. How did it happen?”

“What?” Bakura cautiously reached up and felt his face. Familiar lines of scar tissue met his searching fingers, and Bakura gaped. “Mirror,” he breathed.

“What?”

“Mirror!” Marik started at Bakura’s urgent tone, but pointed to a decorative mirror mounted on a nearby wall.

Rushing over, Bakura stared at his appearance.

This new body did resemble Ryou’s, but it also seemed to have all of the scars he remembered from his previous life. Lifting his pant leg, he saw a nick on his left calf where he’d narrowly avoided an arrow trap once while robbing a tomb, and of course there was the scar beneath his eye. His back felt stiff in a familiar way that told him without looking that lines crisscrossed it, souvenirs of the Pharaoh’s guards from the rare occasions he’d gotten caught. More subtle marks peppered his whole body from a pox he’d almost died of as a child. Every mark was the same, but they looked wrong transposed onto Ryou’s form and juxtaposed with the ones he’d given the boy.

“Damn, you might have even more scars than me.”

Bakura saw Marik reflected in the mirror as he studied Bakura’s back. The fresh memory of seeing a young Marik receiving his own scars resurfaced, and Bakura wanted to pull Marik to him and comfort him. Instead, he turned around and crossed his arms, smirking.

“So, are you just going to keep ogling me, or do I get a shirt to go with the pants?”

Marik’s head snapped up, his eyes gluing to Bakura’s.

“Uh, yeah. One sec.”

Marik disappeared back behind a door Bakura assumed led to his bedroom. He returned with another black t-shirt. Taking it, Bakura smirked at the phrase emblazoned in bold red: _I’m not a minion of evil--I’m upper management._

“Apt,” he commented, slipping it on.

For the first time, he took a good look at his surroundings.

The sofa Bakura had vacated sat nestled into the corner, a glass-top coffee table centered between it and a fifty inch plasma television. Marik had left the door to his bedroom ajar, but Bakura couldn't make out more than the side of a tall, dark wood armoire. The walls and floor were the unremarkable beige most apartment buildings seem to prefer. Other than a bookshelf with some novels and knickknacks and the mirror Bakura stood in front of, there weren't any real homey touches to distinguish it as Marik's. It felt more like a floor model than a place where anyone actually lived.

“So…” Marik drawled, fidgeting with his earrings--the ones Bakura recalled had belonged to his father. “Are you hungry, or…?”

Bakura started to shake his head no, but then realized he was, in fact, very hungry. He held a hand to his suddenly aching stomach. “Famished, actually.”

Marik looked him over, a slight crease between his perfectly arched, golden brows. “That might explain why you're wavering on your feet. Come on, I'll fix you--something...” he trailed off, walking through a doorway to the conjoined kitchen. Bakura hesitated a beat before following.

 

X

 

The kitchen was nearly as barren as the living room had been, only a few stray dishes in the sink and a couple open pieces of mail on the counter to indicate anyone used it. That, and Marik hanging half out of the refrigerator.

Moonlight peeked in through a small window over the sink. White-striated black marble counters formed an L along two walls of the long room, and the entryway door claimed a third. The last wall was blank, not even a family photo to give it a bit of life.

Still unsteady on his feet, Bakura took up one of the dining chairs at the dark wooden table, his back to the door. He let his eyes rove for a bit before they settled on Marik's ass hanging out of the refrigerator. The silken sleeper pants shaped it generously, and Bakura fought down a different kind of hunger, averting his eyes to stare at the splashes of fridge light on the table’s surface.

“Well, there's not much since I haven't gone grocery shopping in a while and I only buy food for myself, but I've got some leftover _Bissara(1)_ and _Eish Baladi(2)_.” He looked over his shoulder for Bakura's input.

Bakura shrugged. “Honestly, I'm not really picky at this point.”

“No quips or complaints? You _must_ be hungry,” Marik muttered, pulling out the containers. He flicked on the kitchen light before dishing out a portion of the _Bissara_. Putting the bowl on a plate with a serving of the bread beside it, he popped the meal into the microwave to warm. Turning back to Bakura, he leaned against the counter, ankles crossed, and appraised him again. Bakura took notice and grinned.

“Like what you see?”

Marik smirked back before shrugging and looking out the window. “I’ve seen worse.”

Bakura snorted.

A loud, sustained beep filled the kitchen, and Marik turned to pull the now-steaming plate out and set it before Bakura. It smelled incredible, and Bakura dug in immediately, tearing off a chunk of bread to dip into the creamy soup. At the first taste, Bakura groaned and shoveled more in. He ate like he’d never tasted food before--well, he supposed this body technically hadn’t, had it?

Marik watched, horrified and fascinated as Bakura mopped the bowl clean with his last bite of bread before making that disappear as efficiently as the rest.

“Would you like to eat the bowl too?”

Bakura looked up to find Marik gaping at him, and he felt his face heat. “I told you I was famished,” Bakura grunted, defensive.

Marik raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, just took Bakura’s bowl and plate and heated him a second serving. Once it was hot, he set it before Bakura same as the first.

Bakura ate more leisurely this time, but with no less zeal. He moaned as the food warmed him from within, the flavors of garlic, red pepper, and cumin mixing on his tongue.

“You make this yourself?” Bakura asked as Marik set to making them some tea.

“Yeah. Had to learn quite a few skills since my emancipation from my previous calling.”

“Must have been an interesting adjustment period.”

Marik shrugged. “Ishizu taught me the basics and how to make some staple dishes. After settling down here I also picked up a couple Japanese recipe books. I don’t mind cooking, and I enjoy challenging myself every once in awhile to try dishes from some of the countries Rishid and I visited during our travels…”

Marik seemed to find the steam from the kettle fascinating, a sad-yet-wistful smile tilting his lips. Bakura wondered what he was remembering, but didn’t ask, electing instead to finish off his food. Marik jolted back to the present when the kettle signaled their water was hot.

Grabbing down two mugs, Marik poured some leaves and water into each. He let them steep a minute before adding sugar, milk, and mint leaves to the light brew. Handing one to Bakura, he took his own mug to the opposite end of the small table.

Bakura took a drink, grimaced, then took another testing sip.

Marik laughed. “If you don’t like it, don’t drink it.”

Bakura shook his head and took another swallow. “I’m just used to the way Ryou used to drink his tea. It’s a palette adjustment.”

“It’s Koshary tea,” Marik explained. “It’s the way Ishizu makes it.”

“Do your siblings live in Domino too?”

“Yeah. They share an apartment over on Harding.”

They sat quietly sipping tea for a bit. Bakura let his mind drift, not really thinking about anything in particular--it seemed like too much trouble to think. His new body felt weary and a bit disconnected from his surroundings, although the food in his belly helped to ground him a bit. Half-formed questions kept wanting to take over his tired mind, but he pushed them aside to deal with later. It was too much to deal with all at once.

Looking up, he noticed Marik’s eyes locked on him, and he smirked.

“You’re staring again.”

Marik’s blush was almost indistinguishable from his copper complexion. “Sorry. I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re here--looking like you, but not. You know?”

Bakura grunted his agreement. “More than you. You only saw me as Ryou.”

“So are the eyes from your previous body?” Marik wondered, sipping tea.

Bakura frowned. “Eyes?”

“Yeah.” Marik pointed to his right eye. “The left one is brown, but the scarred one is gray.”

“Really?” Bakura had been so preoccupied with all the scars he’d completely forgotten to look if there were any other differences.

Marik nodded and Bakura looked thoughtful.

“No, my eyes were both gray in my first life.”

“Huh. Well, they look pretty badass.”

Bakura smirked. “So glad you approve.”

Bakura glanced over Marik’s shoulder at the clock set into the stove. The digital display read: 2:13. “Don’t you need to be heading to bed?”

Marik shook his head. “No, this is mid-day for me.”

“Mid-day?”

“I tend bar--it’s how I pay the rent.”

Bakura’s eyebrows lifted into his bangs. “That’s certainly a change of scenery from running a crime ring. What’s it like?”

Marik grinned and finished off his tea. “Like being paid to be the center of attention.”

“Strippers also get paid to be the center of attention,” Bakura pointed out.

Marik cackled. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bakura shrugged one shoulder. Marik’s eyes sharpened.

“If that's the sort of thing you're into, you could always work the pole. You're going to need a job anyway, right? Now that you're corporeal.”

Bakura grinned and shook his head. “Kind of difficult considering that, as far as this century is concerned, I don't exist.”

“I could help you with that,” Marik offered. “Ishizu, Rishid, and I didn't have official documentation when we left the tomb, so I had to get creative. I still have a few contacts from my time as the leader of the Rare Hunters; I can get you the necessary paperwork.”

Bakura raised an eyebrow. “But Marik, isn't that illegal?”

Marik's mouth twitched. “Technically? Yes. But my source works for the government, so the documents themselves are legit.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

They sat quietly while Bakura finished his tea. Marik rinsed their mugs and set them in the sink before rejoining Bakura back at the table.

“So what's it like being back in your own body?”

Bakura mulled it over. “Strange. I suppose it doesn’t feel too different from when I was in the Shadow Realm, except I now feel hunger and the like, obviously. I felt all of that when I possessed Ryou, of course, but it was distant.”

“Because it wasn’t really your body?”

Bakura nodded. “That, and there was Zorc. His bond with me hampered my emotions and--well, dehumanized me, I suppose.”

Marik shook his head. “I’ve heard things--from Ryou and the others--about Zorc, but it’s hard to imagine. Yugi and the others only saw him in his physical form in the memory world, and Ryou only felt his presence as backlash from the connection the three of you shared.”

Bakura frowned. “He felt Zorc?” Marik nodded. “I tried to keep Zorc away from Ryou. Guess I didn’t do a great job.”

“He said he felt him more in the beginning.”

“Makes sense. Ryou weakened Zorc’s influence over me when we played our first Shadow Game against Yugi and his groupies.”

“I know. Ryou told me.”

“You still speak to him?”

“Yeah. We hang out sometimes. You should let him know you’re back.”

“Why would he want to see the evil spirit that made his life a living hell?”

Marik’s expression softened. “He doesn’t hold that against you. It’s not like him to hold a grudge--and he understands your motives and how much control Zorc had over you.”

Bakura narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. “I’m getting the distinct impression the two of you talk about me often.”

Marik shrugged. “You _were_ the one thing we really had in common. I was curious about you, and he didn’t mind sharing what he knew.”

Bakura’s fingers dug into his arms. “So he told you who I was? My reason for seeking revenge?”

“Only the highlights. Most of the Memory World Shadow Game is a blur to him since Zorc basically completely took over. He just said you did it for your village, that your people were--” Marik faltered, his eyes sympathetic. “It broke my heart to hear it. I’m sorry--for what you _and_ your people went through.”

Bakura’s throat closed up. When he could speak, he said, “What’s done is done. My people are free now.”

“So are you.”

Bakura grunted and pondered the hidden messages in the table’s grainy surface. He didn’t notice Marik had gotten up until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Hey.” Bakura looked up. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“Don’t suppose you have a guest room?”

“No, but the couch is pretty comfortable, and I’ve got spare blankets and pillows.” His concern melted into a lecherous smirk. “Unless, of course, you’d rather share my bed? I’ll warn you, though: I’m a blanket hog.”

Bakura’s heart stuttered at the invitation, but he wasn’t sure if it was genuine or if Marik was just messing with him.  Either way, he didn’t think he was going to be getting much rest if Marik were laying beside him.

_Lead me not into temptation…_ he thought.

“The couch is fine.”

For a second he thought he saw disappointment in Marik’s eyes, but then Marik shrugged and waved for Bakura to follow him.

“The bathroom is right there,” Marik said, pointing at a second door beside the one leading to his bedroom. “Feel free to use my shower stuff. I’ll go grab you some bedding.”

He disappeared into his room and returned with a thin, black, faux fur blanket and a pillow wrapped in matching satin. He piled them on the sofa and turned back to Bakura.

“If this blanket isn’t enough, let me know, but it shouldn’t get too cold out here.”

“Thanks.”

Marik nodded and headed back into the bedroom. Stopping in the doorway, he said, “If you get hungry again--though I can’t imagine you would--feel free to eat whatever you can dig up. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Okay.”

With that, Marik closed his door, leaving Bakura alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)Bissara is both a soup and a bean dip in African cuisine, prepared with dried, puréed broad beans as a primary ingredient. Additional ingredients used include garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, hot red pepper, cumin and salt. Bissara is sometimes prepared using split peas or chickpeas. It is typically inexpensive, and has been described as a pauper's dish.  
> Bissara is a dish in Egyptian cuisine and Moroccan cuisine. In Morocco, bissara is typically served in shallow bowls or soup plates, and topped with olive oil, paprika and cumin. Bread is sometimes eaten dipped into the dish, and lemon juice is sometimes added as a topping.
> 
> (2)Similar to pita, but made with whole wheat flour, this Egyptian flatbread is traditionally baked in scorching-hot ovens in Cairo's bustling markets.
> 
>  
> 
> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	3. Chapter 3

Bakura tossed restlessly to his side on the couch. Marik hadn’t lied about it being comfortable, and Bakura had thought he’d zonk out the moment his head hit the pillow, but his brain refused to cooperate. Although the blanket carried a vaguely floral scent of fabric softener, Bakura suspected the pillow had come from Marik’s bed, because it was steeped in his spicy scent. The smell summoned Bakura’s memories of Marik in Battle City, his lavender crop top showing a feast of well-toned muscle. In his mind, Bakura’s gaze drifted over defined arms--crossed in indifference to his soon-to-be partner--and down to the sculpted abs and mesmerizing V of muscle that lead to a secret as tempting as the one on his back.

The vision changed to Marik now, beauty deepened by the scant years since Bakura had last seen him. The shirt Marik wore tonight covered more, but the tight fit had hinted that Marik hadn’t let himself go, and Bakura imagined he would only look more stunning now than he had back then.

Bakura bit his lip as his dick stirred, brushing against the silky material of his borrowed bottoms. He was starting to regret not taking Marik up on his offer to share his bed, because he would have given almost anything in that moment to feel Marik’s body against his.

Bakura chuckled to himself as he flopped onto his back and rubbed his face with his palms.

He’d always assumed his reaction to Marik was due in no little part to possessing a teenage boy, blaming Ryou’s hormones for the lewd thoughts that had distracted him. It would seem he was wrong. Although this body resembled Ryou’s, it was clearly an older version, and no less interested in Marik than before.

Bakura grinned to himself as he teased the fingers of one hand over his belly, enjoying the jolt of pleasure that raced to his groin. It had been so long since he’d felt anything pleasant. A civil war erupted in his mind, but in the end Bakura decided to hell with it.

Leaning over, he grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on Marik’s coffee table. Glancing at Marik’s door, he pulled the blanket higher and reached his right hand into the front of his sleep pants.

A quiet moan slipped past his lips as he slowly began pumping. The image of Marik shirtless in front of the Pharaoh came to mind, and an uncomfortable mix of anger and guilt tainted Bakura’s lust. He pushed it aside, focusing on the memory of Marik’s bare chest in the sunlight.

Bakura's imagination ran away with him. He imagined running his hands through 24k hair as he brushed their lips togethers. He could practically feel the heat of Marik’s skin as his hands explored a chest as vast as the desert itself. He thought of licking down to the valley of abs that put the Valley of Kings to shame.

Bakura’s breath huffed as his hand sped up. He felt the pressure building, and groaned.

A quiet squeak from Marik’s mattress jerked Bakura’s attention to the door, and he froze. He closed his eyes and listened, and a moment later Marik’s door opened. Bakura heard him yawn and shuffle toward the bathroom. When the door closed, Bakura released a breath he hadn’t realized he held.

His cock throbbed at the sudden lack of stimulation. Bakura bit his lip to keep quiet.

A minute later Bakura heard the toilet flush, then the tap running. The door swung open and light flooded the room for a split second before Marik flicked it off. Bakura closed his eyes and feigned sleep as Marik passed by.

Marik paused before his door, and Bakura listened as he hesitated.

“Bakura?” Marik whispered. “Are you awake?”

Bakura stayed silent and focused on keeping his breathing even. A moment later he felt a hand brush hair away from his face. The fingers traced over Bakura’s lips and he gasped. Marik’s fingers jerked away.

“Taking advantage of a sleeping man?” Bakura murmured. He opened one eye and smirked up at Marik. It was hard to make out his features in the darkness, but Bakura could tell he felt chagrined at being caught out.

“I just--sorry,” Marik muttered. “Have a good night.” Marik turned to go back in the bedroom and Bakura grabbed his arm to stop him.

“I wasn’t asleep. Quite the opposite. I can’t seem to turn my mind off.”

“What were you thinking about?”

Bakura licked his lips. “Honestly? You, mostly.”

“Oh?” Bakura could hear the pleased smirk in Marik’s voice. “Good thoughts?”

Bakura’s fingers slid down to stroke Marik’s wrist. He smiled when he felt the pulse there beating quickly. “Naturally.”

Marik leaned close, his lips hovering upside-down over Bakura’s. Bakura panted at the tantalizing proximity.

“Marik…”

Laying the palm of his other hand against Bakura’s cheek, Marik teased their lips together. Bakura groaned and slipped his other hand into Marik’s hair, holding him in place. They kissed until they were both breathing heavily, and Marik pulled back, locking their eyes.

“Come to my bedroom,  _ jamila (1) _ .”

Bakura didn’t need a third invitation. He threw the blanket aside and got to his feet. Marik grabbed the pillow and led them into his room. Bakura had hardly crossed the threshold before Marik had him sandwiched against the door and was stealing his breath again.

A hand slipped between them and groped at Bakura’s hard-on. Bakura clutched at Marik’s bicep and pressed a strangled groan into his neck.

“ _ Oh gods _ .”

“You were doing more than thinking about me on that couch,” Marik accused.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Bakura huffed. He whimpered as Marik’s fingers stroked him through the material.

“Want to hear something funny?” Marik murmured, kissing up Bakura’s throat.

“What?”

Marik pulled Bakura’s earlobe between his teeth. “I was thinking of you, too.”

The last of Bakura’s self-control drained. He stumbled them back until they hit the edge of the bed and toppled. Bakura licked along Marik’s jaw and pawed at his shirt.

“These clothes need to go.”

Marik chuckled and pulled back. He smoothed down Bakura’s wild white hair. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Bakura couldn’t remember ever shedding clothing quicker. Within seconds they were lying skin to skin against the cool satin coverlet. Bakura pressed against Marik’s heat, and his eyes closed as he leaned their foreheads together. He sighed as Marik’s fingers explored the scars striping Bakura’s back.

“You alright?”

“I’m waiting for you to disappear,” Bakura confessed. He felt Marik’s brow furrow against his.

“What?”

“There’s no way you’re real. This has to be some new trick of Zorc’s. If I give in to the illusion, he’ll break it and use it to torture me.”

Marik kissed him, slow and soft.

“Did that feel real?”

Bakura grinned down into amethyst softened with concern. “It always does.”

“Guess I’ll have to try harder then.”

Marik flipped them over and kissed down Bakura’s neck to his shoulder. As Marik continued further down his body, Bakura’s hands roved over Marik's back with the same reverence Marik showed Bakura's scars, as if they were touching someplace deeper, more vulnerable, than skin.

Bakura's leaking cock twitched when Marik's breath played over it, and wispy moans floated from between Bakura’s parted lips.

_ Please _ , Bakura begged mentally.  _ Oh, gods,  _ please  _ let this be real! _

Marik's hand wrapped around the base and Bakura worried he'd come right then, but Marik's grip tightened further and he merely dripped more precome that Marik licked away.

Bakura panted at the minute contact and Marik grinned like a cat with a cornered mouse. Then he was sucking on the head, tongue circling, and Bakura wailed loud enough to wake everyone in the building.

“Shhh! Gods, Bakura, do you  _ want _ the neighbors pounding down the door?”

But Bakura couldn’t have cared less.

“Don’t stop! Oh, Marik, don’t stop.”

Marik licked his lips, his heart racing at the unfiltered need in Bakura’s voice. “Moan into the pillow.”

As soon as Bakura had the pillow in place, Marik went back to sucking him. The sounds were no less erotic muffled, and Marik felt his own erection straining as he pumped his fist and lapped at Bakura’s tip. Bakura huffed faster when Marik trailed his tongue down the shaft and kissed his balls.

Lifting his head, Marik asked, “Do you mind if I go lower?”

Bakura pulled the pillow away to take a few deep breaths. “You can do anything you want, just don’t stop.”

Marik grinned and leaned over Bakura to pull a bottle from his bed stand drawer. Settling back between Bakura’s legs, Marik lifted one over his shoulder. “Let me know if you don’t like something.”

He circled his finger over Bakura’s hole, enjoying the small sounds Bakura made in response. The quiet moans gave way to a strangled cry as Marik replaced his finger with his tongue, poking and swirling the tip around Bakura’s opening.

“Fuck! Oh,  _ fuuuuuck _ !”

Bakura pressed closer to Marik’s face as he teased the sensitive ring of muscle. Marik felt Bakura’s thighs shaking and his hands fisting the bedspread.

“Marik--suck me off, jerk me off, fuck me, I don’t care! I can’t take much more of this. I need to come.  _ Please _ ! Please make me come.”

Marik swallowed hard as a jolt ran down his groin. He sat up to meet Bakura’s harlequin gaze.

“Which would you prefer?”

“However you want. If this does turn out to be an illusion, then I might as well make the most of it.”

Marik wanted to yell at Bakura that he wasn’t a fucking illusion, but then Bakura smiled at him, the most genuine smile he’d ever seen him give, and Marik realized Bakura was messing with him.

“I’ve been dead for so long,” he murmured, brushing a hand down Marik’s cheek. “Make me feel alive again--I don’t care how.”

Marik crawled up and kissed Bakura hard. Bakura wore the story of his harsh past on his skin like braille, and Marik’s fingers traced each chapter, eager to learn more.

Grabbing the lube, Marik coated three fingers with it. Resting their foreheads together, he reached between them and teased one once again over Bakura’s entrance to acclimate him to the feeling of being touched there. Then he slowly worked the tip of it in and out.

“Stop teasing,” Bakura groaned, his hands stroking along Marik’s sides.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“If it means getting you inside me sooner, I can take a little pain.”

For once, Marik didn’t want to argue. He slid the first finger in fully and worked it in and out, all the while paying close attention to Bakura’s face. When Bakura nodded, he added the second one, moving slower than before when he saw Bakura wince.

It took longer than Bakura wanted, but he didn’t complain again. Instead, he focused on the way Marik’s hair framed them both, like a secret grotto just for them. He could smell the garlic on his own breath as it hung between them and wondered fleetingly if it bothered Marik--then he felt Marik insert a third finger and hit deep inside him, and all thought fled him entirely.

“ _ Oh gods _ ! D-do that again!”

Marik obliged, and Bakura buried his cries in the crook of Marik’s neck. He continued to prod that spot until Bakura was seeing fireworks behind his closed eyes--until he needed more.

“I’m ready. Please.”

Marik nodded and pulled back, dousing his cock with the lubricant until it glistened in the low light. Bakura held his breath as Marik pushed the head in and out like he had his fingers, going a bit deeper each time until Bakura was completely filled.

They panted together as they both adjusted. Marik chuckled against Bakura’s chest.

“Gods, you’re so hot inside.”

“You too. It feels...different than I imagined.”

“Good different?”

“It’d feel better if you started moving.”

Marik took the hint and circled his hips back, then forward. He tested different angles, attempting to find the one that would make Bakura beg him again. When Bakura gasped and clutched at his ass, Marik figured he’d found it.

“Oh, gods. Oh, gods! Right there. Yes, yes, _ yes _ !”

Bakura continued to encourage Marik with words and hands as Marik drove into him a bit faster. Marik sucked at Bakura’s neck. He gripped Bakura’s shoulders like a lifeline, trying to close distance that didn’t exist as they both rode the pleasure. Bakura’s arms and legs wrapped around him, and Marik lost his rhythm, pounding into Bakura as they both called out.

“T-touch me!” Bakura pleaded.

Marik propped up on one arm and reached down to stroke Bakura’s cock with quick, jerky motions as he pumped just as fast and recklessly into Bakura.

Marik’s name filled the room, broken and breathless and desperate, and Marik whimpered as the pleasure in his gut crested, so, so close to the breaking point. 

“Please, Bakura,” he begged. He needed Bakura to come soon, or else he wouldn’t last. His hand, still slick from preparing Bakura, flew up and down Bakura’s length, and he squeezed his fingers a bit tighter.

A sustained cry fell from Bakura’s gaping mouth, and he clamped down on Marik like a sprung trap: arms and legs clutched him in a deathgrip, and Bakura’s inner walls tightened around his desperate cock as warm semen shot between them. Marik groaned into Bakura’s hair as the overwhelming heat and pressure sent him over the edge, and he and Bakura shook together as they finished riding out their orgasms.

Marik collapsed on Bakura bonelessly. He felt too hot now, pressed up against Bakura, but he had no will to move. They panted like marathon runners for a several minutes, until their heart rates leveled out, beating the same calm rhythm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Arabic for "beautiful".
> 
>  
> 
> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	4. Chapter 4

“I think I need a shower,” Bakura muttered.

“Mm-hmm,” Marik agreed, snuggling closer.

“Bit difficult to do that with you holding me down.”

Marik grunted, but didn’t move, and Bakura snorted. He lifted a hand to smooth down Marik’s hair, basking in the afterglow and Marik’s presence.

“This is nice,” Marik said, echoing Bakura’s own thoughts.

“What, laying on top of me while we’re sticky and gross?”

Marik chuckled. “Having you here.”

“Mm.”

They laid in comfortable silence for a while. Just as Bakura was beginning to wonder if Marik had dozed off, Marik sighed and rolled off of him to sit up, legs hanging over the side of the bed.

“Come take a shower with me?” he asked over his shoulder.

Bakura wordlessly followed to the bathroom. He watched in a daze as Marik turned on the spray and tested the temperature.

“How hot do you like it?”

Bakura chuckled and walked up behind Marik to kiss along the wing sweeping the length of his right shoulder. “As hot as you can make it.”

“I meant the shower.”

“So did I,” Bakura purred.

Marik shivered and stepped into the shower. Once Bakura had joined him and drawn the curtain, Marik turned to face him. The hot water caressed over Marik’s back, and he closed his eyes and leaned into Bakura’s chest.

“This is without a doubt the  _ best _ fucking innovation ever,” he moaned, the heat soothing his back. “All the warm water you could want without having to heat it up.”

Bakura’s hands smoothed up his sides and back down, his fingers brushing over the edges of the design. “It is very convenient--and no crocodiles.”

Marik laughed. Pulling back, he took in Bakura’s face, still awed by the surreal combination of familiar and foreign.

Marik couldn’t deny that this new body seemed quintessentially  _ Bakura _ in an undefinable way. The face did look like Ryou, but with subtle deviations that made a world of difference. Bakura’s nose was broader, his jaw more pronounced. He had a sharper arch to his eyebrows than Ryou, and his lips were thinner.

But none of that compared to the eyes. Marik was drawn to them, not for their unusual bicoloring--or not merely--but because of the depth Marik saw within them. These were eyes that had seen more suffering than most mortal men: death and grief; loneliness and guilt; pain both physical and psychological. Marik could relate to some of these things, knew them intimately. Even so, there were other things surfacing in those eyes as Marik watched: curiosity, amusement, joy, lust...and more, so much more--more than Marik knew how to interpret.

“Marik?”

Marik kissed him lightly before grabbing a sponge and placing it in Bakura’s hand. He turned into the cascade and looked back at Bakura.

“Get my back?”

Bakura nodded and lathered soap into the soft, plush sponge. He carefully smoothed it over Marik’s scars, a strange tenderness overcoming him. Once he’d washed Marik’s back, he moved on to his arms, over his chest, down his stomach. He heard Marik catch his breath when Bakura skirted his dick, kneeling to clean  Marik’s legs. He stroked the sponge over Marik’s ass before finally slipping it over his quickly-recovering erection.

“My turn,” Bakura murmured.

Marik closed his eyes and swallowed. He placed his hand on the sponge, his fingers overlapping Bakura’s for a moment before Bakura let go. Turning, Marik daubed more soap before running the sponge over Bakura’s pectorals, purposely brushing over his nipples to hear his breath quicken.

Following Bakura’s lead, he teased the sponge over Bakura’s entire body, working him up as easily as he’d worked the soap into a lather. He’d barely brushed the sponge over the tip of Bakura’s cock when it was pulled from his grip and tossed to the other end of the shower.

Bakura’s mouth crushed against Marik’s, their breath indistinguishable from the abundance of steam fogging the bathroom. Fingers retraced paths the sponge had taken, lingering in places that prompted vocal outbursts. Tender strokes escalated to desperate clutching as they began to move against each other, their cocks sliding together as they sank against the shower wall.

Marik pivoted so that Bakura’s back was to the wall. Grabbing Bakura’s hand, he wrapped both of their fingers around their frotting cocks. Bakura leaned his head back and moaned Marik’s name as if he were invoking a deity, and Marik answered with Bakura’s name as he came. They continued to stroke feverishly until Bakura finished, and they stood weak-kneed and panting, supporting each other against the slick tile.

 

X

 

The water was growing cold by the time they managed to finish properly cleaning themselves and stepped out of the shower. Bakura used the towel Marik handed him to wipe the mirror--which was dripping with condensation--while Marik switched on the vent.

Bakura stared at himself, much the way he’d teased Marik for earlier. Upon further inspection, he noticed aspects of this body that didn’t seem to stem from either his previous body or Ryou’s, like the thin line of hair connecting his navel to his groin. There was also a distinct birthmark along his left ribs, a small constellation of freckles that he couldn’t recall either himself nor Ryou owning.

Marik’s arms wrapped around him from behind.

“That’s got to be strange--looking out and seeing a face you don’t recognize, yet knowing that it’s you.”

Bakura shrugged. “No stranger than seeing your own body being controlled by an alter ego you didn’t know you had.”

Despite the bathroom currently doubling as a sauna, Marik shivered against Bakura’s back. “Touché.”

“At least this time there aren’t any other voices in my head, crowding my thoughts.”

Marik laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I know a little about that myself.” Marik pulled back and toweled off quickly before hanging his towel over the bar to dry. “Come on. Let’s get to bed.”

They crawled under the covers and Marik draped himself over Bakura's chest with a sigh.

Marik's weight was comfortable, and Bakura smiled and held him close. Now that his thoughts no longer buzzed and his body was relaxed, the pull of sleep was stronger. Bakura drifted off to the scent of Marik's shampoo still clinging to his hair, and Marik's soft, steady breathing syncing with his own.

 

X

 

_ Marik kissed and touched him, but even as he enjoyed the scene, Bakura knew it was a dream--after experiencing the real thing, he didn’t think an illusion would fool him ever again. _

“He can’t protect you…”

_ The voice drifted around them as they kissed, oily and heavy, tainting the moment. Dream Marik didn’t seem to notice, but Bakura did. He deepened the kiss, trying to push back the cold Darkness by surrounding himself in Marik, but the oppressive Shadows crept steadily closer. _

“I will find you…”

_ “No,” Bakura moaned, feeling Marik’s form dissolving even as he gripped him tighter. _

“You can’t hide from me…”

_ The Shadows were upon them now. Bakura realized as they shrouded him that it wasn’t Marik who was fading, and he panicked, thrashing uselessly against a force he couldn’t touch. _

“You belong to me…”

_ “Nonononono!” _

_ But his words were drowned out by laughter and a roaring in his ears as he faded to nothing… _

Bakura woke up panting into his pillow, his body layered in a cold sweat.  He felt Marik shift beside him. A warm hand smoothed up Bakura’s chilled spine. 

“You okay?” Marik mumbled.

Bakura huffed a relieved sigh and buried his face in the pillow. “Yeah.”

Marik’s scent filled his lungs, the same scent that had stirred his mind with lustful thoughts mere hours ago now calming him, reminding him that he was free, the real Marik right beside him. His heart climbed down from his throat and his breathing petered to a healthier tempo.

“Want to talk about it?”

Bakura turned his head toward Marik. His hair was smooshed flat against the left side of his head, and Bakura reached out and combed it back into place.

“There's nothing to talk about. It was just a bad dream,” Bakura deflected.

“I have those too,” Marik muttered to the blanket. “Not as often as I used to, but still.”

Bakura hesitated. “About…the initiation?”

“For starters.” Marik looked up.

Bakura swallowed. He wanted to be open, to tell Marik what Zorc had shown him, but he felt like he was transgressing somehow, like he knew more than he should without Marik’s permission.

Marik's eyes weren't angry or sad--or any other nameable emotion--as he waited for Bakura's response. It was that lack, that numbness, that drove Bakura to answer. Bakura wanted to see some kind of emotion light up behind those violet, stained glass shards, even if it was anger directed at him.

Bakura reached around Marik, slow enough that Marik could stop him if he wanted to, and traced the Egyptian gods etched on Marik's back.

“Zorc showed me your initiation,” he confessed softly, as if afraid of his own words. “I had to watch as every single one of these lines was carved into you.”

Marik stiffened and Bakura jerked his hand away, as if the marks were fresh and could burn him, but Marik grabbed Bakura's arm. Bakura gently smoothed his palm up and down Marik's back. Marik's eyes fluttered shut.

Dim sunlight painted the room in dingy pastels, and now that he listened, Bakura could hear rain knocking on the bedroom's small window. The dull light made Marik look far older than twenty-two. There were shadows deepening his eyes that Bakura had failed to notice the night before.

“It was the worst pain I've ever felt,” Marik whispered, almost inaudible over the soft patter of rain, “but the initiation was only part of it.”

Marik paused, and Bakura rubbed soothing circles low on his back, where the scars didn't reach.

“He never loved me. Ishizu insists that he did; he was just sick. But his eyes were as lifeless as the mummies entombed in the lower levels. Even when he grew angry, there was no spark to it--just a reflex from a body trying to imitate life. The only time I ever saw true emotion on his face was when he was hurting Rishid or me.”

The image of Marik’s father, knife in hand as he sliced through Marik’s back, jumped to Bakura’s mind. He remembered the perverse joy mixed with reflected flames in his eyes as the man mutilated his own son. No, not a man--a  _ demon _ . Bakura had far too much experience with demons not to know the difference.

“You’re probably right,” Bakura intoned. “He was a monster. Monsters aren't capable of feeling love.”

Marik blew out a breath and ran his fingers through his hair, temporarily displacing it before it fell right back into place. “I’ve been trying so hard to make a fresh start for myself, but it’s hard when your past haunts you. Then again, when has my life ever been easy?”

Bakura grunted and nodded.

Marik glanced at him. “Sorry. I...didn’t mean to dump all of this on you.” Marik laughed self-consciously. “I’m sure you’ve got enough to deal with with the whole coming-back-to-life thing.”

Bakura shook his head and brought his hand to overlap the one Marik had resting on Bakura's stomach. Marik stared where their bodies connected but didn’t flinch or pull away.

“I don’t mind. I understand a bit what it’s like to feel like your life and everything in it is working against you. Marik...” Licking his lips, he waited for Marik to look at him again. “You. Are. Not. A. Burden. Understand?”

Marik’s breath caught. He nodded, chewing his lower lip.

They stayed like that until the air between them grew heavy and Bakura pulled back.

“We should...probably get up and eat something.”

“Yeah.” Marik leaned over and gave Bakura a chaste kiss before rolling out of bed. They both threw on some of Marik's clothes--Bakura choosing a dark gray t-shirt picturing a pair of handcuffs with the phrase “It’s only illegal if you get caught” beneath it--before heading out to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	5. Chapter 5

They ended up eating porridge since Bakura had finished the  _ Bissara _ the night before and there wasn’t much in Marik’s refrigerator or cupboards. When they’d finished and the dishes were rinsed and in the sink, Marik made them coffee. 

Bakura watched as Marik poured the fine grounds, sugar, and water into an ibrik. He brought the brew to a slow boil on the stove before pouring it into two cups.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just get a coffee pot?” Bakura wondered, blowing on the coffee to cool it.

A condescending snort disturbed the surface of Marik’s coffee as he took a careful sip. “If I wanted to drink brown water, sure. Personally, I prefer coffee.”

Bakura shook his head. “Seems like a lot of effort for one cup though.”

“If I hadn’t shared, I’d have two cups,” Marik pointed out. “Besides, I prefer quality over quantity.”

Bakura chuckled into his cup. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

Marik winked. “Absolutely.”

Bakura’s face warmed as he drank more hot coffee. “So, do you work tonight?”

“No. Wednesday and Thursday are my days off--today is Thursday,” Marik added at Bakura’s blank look.

“Ah. Any plans?”

Marik grinned like a fox. “Why? Do you want to ask me on a date?”

“Be a bit backwards, considering we fucked last night.”

“I’ve never really put much stock in tradition.” Marik waved it off. “Anyway, we should probably do some shopping. I’m overdue to get groceries, and we can pick you up some clothes while we’re out.”

Bakura raised an eyebrow at the word “we,” but chose to let it pass. “Why would I buy new clothes when I can just keep stealing yours?”

Marik made an amused hum in his throat. Oddly enough, the idea didn’t bother him. Marik rather liked seeing Bakura in his clothes.

“Then perhaps I’ll buy myself some new clothes and you can carry the bags.”

“I’m not your bloody servant.”

“Consider it reimbursement for eating the last of my food.”

“Wouldn’t have eaten the last of your food if you actually kept food in this place, but whatever.”

Marik got up and fetched a pen and a memo pad from somewhere and began jotting down a shopping list. Bakura sipped his coffee, offering the occasional suggestion.

The rain seemed to have dissipated for the moment, and Bakura found the silence soothing. It was nice to be able to just sit in the quiet, listening to the scratching of Marik’s pen on the paper. The silence was natural, comfortable.

It seemed an odd thing to fixate on, but Bakura couldn’t recall the last time he’d experienced quiet like this; there had always been something to taint it before. First it had been the tortured wails of his people. They’d haunted him as surely as they haunted the village, their pleas echoing in his mind even when he was miles away. Later it had been Ryou’s thoughts. Sometimes he’d heard them as if Ryou spoke in their shared mind, while other times he’d received only impressions of thoughts or feelings that weren’t his own.

Then there was the Shadow Realm, that unending Darkness that slithered around and constricted like a snake. There had been quiet there, an unnatural silence that was deafening, crippling in its paradoxical nature. It whispered, not with words, but with  _ suggestions _ , feeding on the fear and despair it evoked like a cloud reabsorbs the vapor that once was rain.

Bakura clenched his hands tighter around his cooling cup, seeking its remaining heat as a shiver shook him.

“You cold?” Marik asked, glancing up. “I can turn the air down a bit.”

“M’fine,” Bakura said, the words pressing uncomfortably past his throat.

Marik laid down his pen and moved to sit in the chair next to Bakura instead of directly across from him. He placed a hand on Bakura’s knee.

“You listened to me earlier. If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

Bakura shook his head. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Okay…” Marik took a slow breath and glanced back at his list. “Well, if we’re going to be going out, I want to do something with my hair.”

Marik rose and padded off toward the bathroom, and Bakura once again felt guilty. It wasn’t like Bakura  _ didn’t _ want to share his dark past with Marik--like Marik said, he’d shared his with Bakura--he just didn’t know where to begin.

Bakura sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.

Most of Bakura’s memories were blurry, half-remembered. They bled together until he couldn’t tell them apart, warped and corrupted by Zorc to the point that Bakura wasn’t sure what was truth and what was fiction. How was he supposed to talk about a life he couldn’t accurately recall?

Some details remained crystal clear--the ones Zorc had preserved to motive Bakura toward his vengeance--but most were confused. Bakura found even the most basic information escaped him. He couldn’t recall the faces of the villagers he’d worked so tirelessly to set free, or when he’d first discovered he could summon Diabound--or even his own name.

Bakura saw droplets splashing against the table’s polished surface, but his hands felt too heavy to wipe his stinging cheeks.

“Bakura? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Marik’s alarmed voice brought Bakura’s head up in a daze. He felt as if he were weighed down and floating at the same time.

“Because--I don’t--remember who I am anymore,” Bakura choked out. “Who am I?” he asked.

Marik stared at him. “Is...that a trick question?”

“I mean, I  _ used _ to be a tomb robber avenging his people--the Thief King! Now what am I? Nothing!” he answered before Marik could speak. “A tattered shell of a man. I’m nothing but a fractured soul with unreliable memories, residing in a Xerox of someone else’s body, going by a name that  _ isn’t _ mine, and living a life that no longer has direction or purpose.”

Bakura collapsed against the table, hands fisting his chalky spikes. Marik sat beside him and placed a tentative hand on his back. Bakura was shaking.

“You know...I went through something similar after Battle City,” Marik confessed quietly. “I mean, I literally lost a part of myself when I sealed my dark half in the Shadows, and suddenly I had a whole lot of memories and feelings I had to face up to.”

Bakura stopped shaking, leaning into Marik’s touch. Marik rubbed a slow path along his spine and continued.

“All I’d ever wanted my whole life was to be free. I never wanted to be a Tomb Keeper, or to undertake that  _ fucking _ initiation, or to deal with any of the responsibilities that came with it all. I just wanted to live my life  _ my _ way! But...after the Pharaoh moved on and I was finally able to start over and do just that, I had no clue where to begin.

“My entire life I’d had people telling me who I was supposed to be and what to do and how to live, and I  _ hated _ it. Now there was no prophecy or destiny deciding my life for me, and I felt lost. I tried my best to make a life here in Domino, but even that felt more like going through the motions than  _ living _ .”

Marik tugged gently at Bakura’s hands until he released his death grip on his hair, then Marik just held them until Bakura met his eyes.

“I’ve also lost track of the person I was--but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I’m trying to rewrite myself into the person I want to be rather than the person my past made me. And just in the handful of hours since you fell back into my life--literally--” Marik chuckled, a soft smile curving his mouth, “I feel for the first time like I’m where I want to be.”

Bakura’s face felt embarrassingly wet, but his mouth couldn’t have been drier. Marik’s gemstone eyes held him transfixed. Bakura’s heart raced so fast he feared he was having a heart attack, and the air felt thin and useless in his lungs.

“Who you were doesn’t matter nearly as much as who you want to be now. Don’t think about what you  _ should _ do with your life; think about what you  _ want _ to do with it.”

Marik squeezed his hands around Bakura’s, and the world seemed to settle. Bakura’s breathing calmed, and every intake of air was laced with Marik’s perfume. Bakura’s heart no longer raced, but pounded, and every syncopated pulse echoed in his ears with the same thought:

_ Ma-rik. _

“So…” Marik wiped Bakura’s face with one hand, the other still wrapped tight around Bakura’s. “What do you want?”

_ Ma-rik. _

“I…” Bakura croaked the word, his voice made rusty from the raw emotions swamping him.

_ Ma-rik. Ma-rik. Ma-rik. _

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Marik soothed, eyes averted. “It took me a while to find my own path.”

Bakura took Marik’s chin in his fingers and turned that mesmerizing gaze back where he wanted it. Marik’s lips were parted, and for once no orders, or witticisms, or oil slick, manipulative words fell from them. Like Bakura, they were, momentarily, without a purpose.

So Bakura gave them one.

The moment Bakura’s mouth brushed over his, Marik leaned into him. Spice colored hands buried in hair like bleached flour. Bakura fell into the kiss, cupping Marik’s cheeks and carelessly smearing his freshly applied khol.

Three-thousand years he’d spent in the Shadows. Three-thousand years of pain and grief and rage and loneliness that had left him cold and bitter and brittle. But Marik was everything the Shadows weren’t. Marik was sunguilded hair and eyes that glowed with understanding. Marik was strong arms wrapped around him and sweet, tender kisses along his jaw. Marik was warm breath in his lungs and a heart beating a frantic prayer against his own.

Bakura opened his eyes when he felt Marik pull back. Marik’s lips gleamed as he caught his breath.

“What do I want?” Bakura repeated. “Nothing.” He stroked one hand down a smooth, sandstone cheek. “What would I wish for when everything I could ever want is right here?”

Marik’s eyes widened the instant before they fell closed, and he crushed his lips back onto Bakura’s. The kisses stretched on, until the tears evaporated and their lips pulled more desperately at each other.

A knock on the door eventually tore them apart. They exchanged a curious look.

“Are you expecting someone?” Bakura wondered. Marik shook his head as the knock sounded again.

“Coming,” Marik called, heading for the door.

He peeped through the view hole.  Ryou stood on the other side, uncharacteristically fidgeting from one foot to the other.

When he unlocked the door and swung it open, Ryou beamed at him.

“Marik! I'm glad I caught you at home. You won't believe wh--” Ryou cut off, looking over Marik's shoulder with wide, disbelieving eyes. “ _ Bakura? _ ”

Marik felt Bakura come up behind him a moment later and rest his chin on Marik's shoulder. He felt more than saw Bakura's grin.

“Well, well, look who it is. Long time no see, landlord.”

 

X

 

Ryou sat across from Marik at the kitchen table while Bakura made tea for them all, adding more cream and sugar to Ryou's. Ryou watched him as he worked.

“So,” Marik prompted to get Ryou's attention. “You seemed to have big news to tell me.”

“Uh, yes. About that…” Ryou bit his lip, still eyeing Bakura. “It seems Bakura's sudden emergence from the Shadows wasn't entirely, uh, random.” Ryou swallowed, sighed, then came out with it. “Atem's back.”

A mug shattered against the far wall, an arterial spray of tea splattering the table and floor. Ryou winced.

Bakura stood frozen, an icy glare aimed at Ryou. A small tic had started in his jaw. “Explain.”

“Well, you know about as much as I do. I got a text this morning from Yugi saying Atem showed up at his game shop last night, out of the blue. Something about the gods giving him a fresh start as a reward for all he sacrificed to--look, don't get angry with me! I'm just the messenger,” Ryou snapped when Bakura’s fists curled at his sides.

“Oh yes, all that  _ he _ sacrificed. Of course the fucking  _ Pharaoh _ gets a redo.”

“Stop throwing a tantrum,” Marik scolded. He carefully picked up the bits of broken ceramic before mopping up the tea with paper towel. “In case you haven't noticed, you're also back.”

Bakura snorted and crossed his arms. “You think the gods pulled me out?”

Marik shrugged and dumped the shards and wad of sopping paper into the trash. He shouldered Bakura away from the sink and washed his hands.

“How else do you explain the fact that you and Atem came back at the same time? Call it a coincidence if you want, but I stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago.” Turning to Ryou, he said, “Not that I mind you visiting, but you could have told me this over the phone.”

“A few of us tried calling and texting you, but your phone went straight to voicemail.”

“Oh. I guess I forgot to charge it last night, what with Bakura coming back from the dead and everything. Be right back.”

Marik disappeared into the living room, leaving Bakura and Ryou alone.

“Sooooo…” Bakura drawled, handing Ryou one of the mugs he hadn't smashed and sitting next to him with the other. “Anything new to report?”

Ryou sipped the tea and grinned. “I work for Kaiba Corp as a level designer.”

“Sounds right up your alley.”

“It's great! All those years of building Monster World dioramas paid off after all--the programming degree helps too.”

Ryou noticed the tension ease from Bakura's shoulders now that the discussion had moved on from the Pharaoh.

“Is it strange working for Kaiba?”

Ryou shook his head. “Not as much as you might think. I don't really deal with him directly. The job itself is fun, pays well, and has good benefits.”

Marik walked in with his phone in hand, a portable charging unit plugged into the bottom.

“Damn! How many messages did you guys leave?”

Scrolling through his notifications, Marik saw he had twelve missed calls and five voicemails, on top of the handful of text messages from Yugi, Ryou, and Téa. One of the texts was from Rishid asking Marik to call him. Marik figured he'd deal with the backlog of messages later and laid the phone on the table, reclaiming his seat.

“Hey!”

Bakura grabbed for the mug Marik had snatched from him, but Marik scooted farther away, sipping from it.

“You smashed mine in a childish fit. Deal with it.”

Bakura let out an irritated huff. Marik took another pointed sip.

“So, Bakura...if you need a place to stay until you find your feet, I’ve got a spare room at my place,” Ryou offered, his eyes tracking between them.

“You didn't get enough of me when I lived in your head?” Bakura teased. Not waiting for a response he shook his head and grabbed for the tea. “Thanks for the offer, but Marik here has already agreed to let me stay here.” He caught Marik's gaze, his fingers brushing over Marik’s on the mug. “Isn't that right?”

Marik smirked and slid the cup toward Bakura. “You’re replacing that cup you broke.”

Bakura opened his mouth to retort, but stopped when he heard footsteps outside the kitchen door.

The door flew open, a silhouette with tall, wild blonde hair filling up the doorframe. Marik and Bakura stared as Marik’s double stared back, a crazed grin stretching across his face.

“What’s up, motherfuckers? Miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	6. Chapter 6

It took Bakura’s brain a few seconds to think clearly. He moved on instinct, grabbing a butcher’s knife from the block by the stove and crouching between Marik and the entrance.

“What the  _ fuck _ are you doing here?” Bakura growled, knife angled to strike.

One blonde eyebrow raised coolly at him.

Ryou sighed. “I thought you said you’d stay in the car.”

Accusatory, plum colored eyes shifted to Ryou. “And I thought  _ you _ said this wouldn’t take long.”

“I’ve only been here a few minutes.”

Muscular arms folded over a broad chest, and Bakura recognized the old t-shirt he wore as one of Ryou’s.

“Try twenty. I got tired of waiting.”

Bakura glanced between Ryou and Marik's alter ego, the knife still aimed at the latter. “Wait, he's with you?” he shot at Ryou.

“Um… sort of? He also showed up last night. I woke up to him raiding my fridge. You can put that knife back, by the way; he’s not dangerous.”

Marik and Bakura both looked at him like he’d finally crossed the line into Crazy Town.

“Okay,” Ryou conceded. “He is, but he hasn’t tried to kill anyone yet, and I don’t think instigating a fight is the best way to prevent that from happening.”

Bakura hesitated before returning to his seat, setting the knife within quick reach on the table. Marik simply stared at his twin.

“Why the fuck did  _ he _ show up at  _ your _ place?” Bakura asked. “You never even interacted with him.”

“I’m assuming I would have been brought back here, but you hijacked that path out of the Shadows, so I followed the pull to the Creampuff.”

Bakura blinked at him. “What?”

The double sighed like Bakura was being intentionally dense. “How is it that you’ve spent centuries in the Shadows and fighting gods, yet you still know fuckall about how shit works? You’re as clueless as Marik.”

“Fuck you,” Marik and Bakura both yelled.

“Kek,” Ryou scolded.

The doppelgänger pouted, and Bakura realized that, like himself, Marik's alter ego seemed different. He still resembled Marik, but his features were sharper. Some of his mannerisms were similar to Marik's, but more impatient, and he carried himself with a devil-may-care air that was nothing like Marik's flirtatious grace.

“It had to have been him that influenced where we ended up last night,” Kek accused, “because it sure as hell wasn’t me. All I know is I felt a pull toward reality--toward Marik--and then a painful jerk as I was ripped in another direction, and I wound up at your place.”

Bakura recalled a similar sensation when he was pulled free, but he didn’t know how Marik’s dark half--Kek, as Ryou seemed to be calling him--had deciphered what had happened from that alone. When he voiced this out loud, Kek snorted and rolled his eyes, the gesture both so like and yet completely unlike Marik.

“Because it's obvious the gods yanked our asses out of the fire and gave us new bodies.”

“How do you know the gods are behind it?” Bakura asked.

“Yeah,” Marik agreed, speaking for the first time since Kek’s arrival. “Couldn't something have happened with the Items?”

“The Items don't have the power to give us new bodies,” Bakura answered. “But I don't see why the gods would bring us back. Atem, perhaps, since he's their golden boy and, according to Yugi's text, he had requested to come back. They wouldn't have any reason to bring either of us back though. We were both out of their hair as long as we remained in the Shadow Realm.”

Kek shrugged. “All I know is whatever pulled us out felt similar to what I experienced while controlling the Winged Dragon of Ra, so my money's on Divine Intervention. It also explains why I ended up at Ryou's and you ended up here.”

“How’s that?” Bakura wondered.

“Because you influenced where we ended up. Look,” Kek added when Bakura made to protest, “it's just like with that stupid Heart of the Cards bullshit the Pharaoh was always spouting. The will of the gods can be manipulated if a person’s own will is strong enough. Let me put it this way,” he continued when Bakura still just stared blankly at him. “What were you thinking about at the precise moment we were summoned?”

Bakura felt his face heat tellingly. “Marik.”

A victorious grin spread over Kek’s lips. “See? Called it,” he told Ryou, who nodded as if the situation made sense.

“Okay, this is all interesting and everything,” Marik cut in, “but we’ve still got a problem on our hands.”

“Zorc,” Bakura growled.

Bakura recalled his dream, the dark whispers calling out to him, seeking him--claiming him. He shuddered.

“Yes. Like you said, it can’t be a coincidence that we both got jailbroken at the same time  _ he _ came back,” Bakura reiterated. “And the only way we should have been able to be pulled out at all is if the Shadows were unsealed.”

“So they must have unsealed when Atem came back,” Ryou concluded.

Bakura nodded solemnly. “Which means Zorc is free once again to interact with the mortal realm, and  _ once again _ it’s  _ all the Pharaoh’s fault _ .”

Marik and Ryou exchanged concerned looks, but Kek merely scoffed. He drifted over to the stove and pulled a cleaver from the block on the counter, holding it up like a mirror and examining his reflexion in the blade.

“I don’t understand why you’re bitching,” Kek said. “We’re out of the Shadow Realm and in our own bodies. Personally, I’d mark that as a tick in the positives column.”

“Because,” Bakura gritted out, “escaping the Shadow Realm isn’t going to mean shit if Zorc drags us right back.”

Kek snapped his attention away from the knife, something like fear in his eyes.

“He can do that?”

“He can with me,” Bakura admitted, examining the tessellations on the kitchen floor. “I swore my soul to him so I could do what needed to be done to save my people.”

“That’s  _ not _ going to happen,” Marik snapped.

Bakura met Marik’s eyes. He recognized the fire there--the same flame that burned when Marik had fought alongside Bakura to protect Ishizu and Rishid--and the determination filled Bakura’s new heart with familiar, resigned longing.

“If only it were that simple,” Bakura sighed.

“Maybe it is,” Ryou said, looking at Bakura. “I think we should talk to Atem.”

“I’m not asking that  _ fucker _ for anything!”

Ryou glared at him. “So you’re telling me you’d rather spend eternity in the Shadows than swallow your pride and ask Atem for help?”

Bakura clenched his jaw and glared back. “ _ Yes _ ,” he hissed, although he wasn’t sure he meant it.

“You said this was all Atem's fault, right?” Marik asked. “Then let's make him fix it.”

Kek straightened, a broad grin on his face. “What did you have in mind?”

Marik frowned at the cleaver still in Kek's hand. “Put my knife back--and here.” He grabbed the one Bakura had abandoned on the table. “Put that away too.”

Kek snorted and took the butcher knife. He made to place the cutlery back in its block, but Bakura noticed him slip them inside the deep pockets of his cargo pants once Marik had turned away. Kek saw Bakura watching him and made a conspiratorial shushing gesture. Since he didn't think the maniac was going to use the knives on any of them, Bakura ignored him and focused on their current problem.

“Okay, let's say for the sake of argument he's actually willing to clean up this mess he made. What do we expect him to _ do _ about it? Even as the reigning Pharaoh, even with the help of his nitwit friends--sorry, Ryou, but some of them  _ are _ twats--he barely managed to lock Zorc away the first time.”

“That’s why we need to talk to him--we don’t know for sure  _ what _ he’s capable of now,” Marik said. “Besides, last time he didn’t have us helping him.”

Bakura scowled at the idea of  _ helping _ the Pharaoh, but said only, “And what do you expect us to do? You and I couldn't even defeat  _ him _ .” Bakura jerked a thumb at Kek. “What makes you think we'd have any luck against the Lord of Darkness?”

“You know more about Zorc than any of us. If anyone holds the key to defeating him, it’s you.”

“Besides,” Ryou added. “It’s not like it’s Zorc’s physical form we’d be facing this time--right? He won’t be as strong as before.”

Bakura sighed and considered it. “No. Zorc can't cross over entirely without the proper ritual and sacrifice to manifest his true form--something even  _ Atem _ isn't stupid enough to repeat. That doesn't mean he can't still fuck with people--especially if they've been touched by Shadow Magic.”

“Which means the others are also in danger,” Ryou said.

“Possibly,” Bakura said.

“Then it's settled. The others were meeting at the Kame Game Shop this afternoon. We need to head over there and figure out a plan.”

Ryou looked at Marik, who nodded, then Kek, who shrugged. Then they all turned to look at Bakura, who frowned.

“For the record, I fucking  _ hate _ this.”

They waited, and Bakura ran a hand through his unbrushed hair.

“ _ Fine _ ,” he said finally. “I’ll go--but the first chance I get, I’m punching that asshole in the face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	7. Chapter 7

The bell above the entrance chimed as Marik and Ryou stepped inside. They’d all agreed--Bakura and Kek grudgingly--that it would be better for Kek and Bakura to wait outside until Marik and Ryou broke the news to the others.

Bakura leaned against the side of Ryou’s car while Kek admired Marik’s bike. He spared the door a glance over his shoulder before mounting it and fiddling about.

“This is  _ way _ nicer than the one we stole for Battle City,” Kek commented. “Looks like he’s installed upgrades.”

Bakura shrugged. All motorcycles looked pretty much the same to him.

Leaning forward on the handlebars, Kek grinned at him. Bakura waited for him to say something, but he just kept staring with that creepy smile glued on his face. Finally Bakura lost his patience and snapped at him.

“ _ What _ ?”

Kek shrugged. “I was just thinking. Marik seemed pretty laid back about me being back, didn’t he?”

Bakura’s brow furrowed. “I suppose.”

Kek’s face turned pensive as he ran his fingers over the handle’s textured grip. “Do you think he forgives me? For--well, you know…”

“You mean taking over his body and trying to kill his siblings?” Kek frowned, nodded. “You’d have to ask him.”

The door chimed again and Marik reappeared. He frowned as Kek dismounted, a hand gravitating to his hip.

“You get so much as a scratch on Quinn, and I’ll beat your fucking face in,” Marik told Kek matter of factly.

Bakura raised an eyebrow. “Quinn?”

Marik smiled, walking over and petting the seat as if he were soothing an anxious cat. “Yeah. It’s a red and black Harley. She was always my favorite Batman villain.”

Bakura shook his head, a small smile pulling up the corners of his lips.

“So, are we invited to the party?” Bakura asked.

“Yeah. Come on.”

Kek and Bakura followed Marik inside. They walked to the back of the shop and up the stairs that led to the apartment above. All eyes turned to them as they topped the steps. Bakura immediately spotted Atem in the middle of the group, and he froze when purple gypsum eyes locked with his.

Atem looked as he had in Ancient Egypt--mostly. The toasted almond complexion and royal superiority complex were just as Bakura remembered them, but seemed at odds with his outfit of tight, dark blue jeans and a plain white wife beater--which presumably he'd borrowed from Yugi.

“Don’t you ever stay dead?” Bakura remarked. Kek cackled.

Atem smirked at them both. “Someone’s got to be around to keep you in check.”

Bakura snorted and crossed his arms.

The room was immediately divided: Yugi, Téa, Joey, and Tristan crowding around Atem while Marik, Ryou, Bakura, and Kek stood together.

The tense silence stretched on, and Yugi sighed. “I'm going to assume you guys aren't here for the welcome back party.”

Bakura glanced at Ryou. “I thought you were going to explain the situation.”

“I...wasn’t sure where to begin, honestly.”

“What’s going on?” Yugi looked at Ryou as he asked the question, but it was Marik that answered.

“Actually, we were hoping you could tell us.”

“Yugi texted that the gods brought you back,” Ryou prompted Atem.

“Yes. Because I gave up my first life to help restore balance, they agreed I had earned a second chance.”

“Well, obviously Bakura and Kek are back, too,” Ryou pointed out. “Do you know why?”

“Of course.” Atem said.

“ _ Of course _ ,” Bakura mocked, glaring at him. “Alright, Pharaoh Know-It-All. Enlighten us.”

Atem inclined his head, a smug quirk to his lips as he stared down Bakura. “They pulled you out because I asked them to.”

“ _ Liar _ !” Bakura roared. Everyone in the room jumped.

“It’s the truth.” Atem swallowed, but held Bakura’s irate gaze. “It didn’t sit well with me, you--either of you--being trapped there while I was in Aaru. After all, both of you also played your parts to restore balance. Eternity in the Shadow Realm seemed...a harsh reward.”

“So you did it out of guilt?” Bakura demanded. Atem nodded, and Bakura relaxed a fraction. “There really is a first time for everything.”

Atem pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t exactly expect a ‘thank you,’ but you could try being a bit more gracious. After all, if it weren’t for me, you’d still be trapped there.”

Bakura held a hand to his chest dramatically. “Oh, my  _ apologies _ , your Highness. I didn’t realize I had to bow and scrape because you did the  _ decent thing for once in your fucking life _ !”

“Bakura...” Marik said in quiet warning, eyeing Atem’s darkening expression. He laid a hand on Bakura’s arm, but Bakura shook it off.

“I hate to break it to you, but your  _ selfless _ gesture was wasted,” Bakura snapped.

“I’m beginning to see that,” Atem replied coolly.

“No. You really don’t.” Bakura’s hands began to shake at his sides, so he shoved them in his pockets. “Your True Death was the final component necessary to seal the Shadows,” he said, suddenly quiet. “It shouldn’t have been possible for the gods to pull Kek or I out. The only reason they could was because you came back.”

Atem’s anger faded to confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Your return to the living broke the seal,” Ryou explained. “Which means Zorc is also free, to a limited degree.”

“And he’s not too happy I slipped through his fingers,” Bakura added. “He’s going to come for me, and thanks to the pact I made with him, when he does, there won’t be a damn thing I can do to keep him from dragging me back.”

The room was silent in the wake of this revelation. Tristan was the first to break it.

“So let me get this straight. There’s a  _ demon _ coming to call in the marker on your soul, and you want us to help you stop him?”

“Essentially,” Bakura said.

“You’re insane!” Joey shouted.

“True, but that doesn’t change anything.”

“We saw that freakazoid in Atem’s memories,” Joey said, “and I gotta tell ya, I ain’t too keen on fightin’ somethin’ like that.”

“Well, obviously we’re not going to fight him,” Marik corrected, a calculating grin stretching his lips. “We’re going to trick him.”

Téa tilted her head. “How are we going to do that? I’m no demon expert, but aren’t they masters of deception?”

“At least he won’t expect it,” Ryou said.

Kek chuckled. “Surprise only goes so far, Snowflake.”

“You want me to seal him back up again,” Atem guessed, addressing Bakura.

Bakura nodded. “Preferably before he takes me with him.”

“That won’t be easy. Last time took three thousand years, and I had to die--twice!”

“Things are a bit different this time.” Bakura sighed. “Last time Zorc was more powerful, drawing power from the souls of Kul Elna that were bound to the Millennium Items. Those souls were released when you returned the Items to the Tablet, so the only power he has is what he was created with.”

Yugi’s eyes sharpened. “What do you mean, ‘created with?’”

“Zorc Necrophades was born from the Shadow Realm itself. All of us here have experienced the Shadows, at least peripherally, from participating in and observing Shadow Games.” Everyone nodded.

Téa shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “Ugh, just talking about it makes my skin crawl!”

“Try living it for five years,” Kek muttered.

Marik glanced at Kek before staring at the floor.

“The Shadows aren’t merely magic and darkness,” Bakura continued. “There’s an intelligence at work there--a  _ sentience _ . Whatever that awareness is, it’s responsible for Zorc’s creation.”

“How do you know all of this?” Atem demanded. “Not even the gods are sure how Necrophades came to be.”

Bakura laughed cruelly. “It took a near _ apocalypse  _ for the so-called gods to pull their heads out of their asses and actually pay attention to the people that worshiped them! They weren’t even aware the balance of life was in peril until it was almost too late. Forgive me if I don’t have as much faith in their divine  _ wisdom _ as you do.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“While you were blissfully comatose in the Puzzle for three millennia, I was in the Shadows with Zorc. He fucked with my memories and made my existence hell--but he didn’t realize that while our bond allowed him to pull things from my head, the bond worked both ways.”

“You  _ read Zorc’s mind _ ?” Joey asked, mouth hanging open.

“Not actively, no. Not the way Marik read minds with the Rod. It was more that knowledge just sort of...came to me. It was never anything substantial, but Zorc used our connection often when torturing me, and I had three thousand years to piece things together.”

“And he never picked up on what you knew?” Yugi asked.

“Why would he? He was only interested in memories and thoughts that he could use to break me. Besides, it wasn’t until I lost our final Shadow Game in the Memory World and got stuck in the Shadow Realm the second time that I fully realized how I could use the knowledge to my advantage--and by then it was too late.”

“Well, it ain’t too late now,” Joey pointed out.

“Yeah,” Tristan agreed. He punched a fist into his other hand. “So how do we beat this freak?”

“I’ve been working on that,” Bakura admitted. “It’s not going to be easy, and if we’re going to pull it off, we’re going to have to work together.” His eyes once again caught Atem’s. “For the time being, I’m willing to call a truce.”

“A truce?” Atem smirked. “Does this mean you no longer hate me?”

“Oh, I still hate you,” Bakura assured him. “I just hate Zorc more.”

“So I’m the lesser of two evils.”

Bakura slowly returned the smirk. “Your words, not mine.”

“Alright.” Atem held out his hand, and Bakura stared at it as though it were an asp.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Why?” Bakura wondered.

Atem sighed. “Because I think if things had turned out differently, we would have gotten along.”

“If things had turned out differently,” Bakura replied harshly, “we most likely would have never met.”

Atem’s hand remained outstretched, unwavering, as if he’d hold it out the rest of the night to make his point. The awkward silence was back, and Bakura let it continue for several uncomfortable seconds before slowly raising his own hand and walking forward.

Atem’s grip on his wrist was firm, but not overbearing, and Bakura matched the pressure.

“Now,” Atem said, a smug grin forming. “Was that so--?”

Faster than anyone could react, Bakura tugged Atem forward and brought up his fist so that Atem’s face slammed into it. Yugi and his posse swarmed around Atem as he knelt, blood pouring from his nose, and Bakura backed away, hands held up in surrender. Atem ignored his friends, staring with comical astonishment at Bakura.

“You  _ punched _ me!”

“That was uncalled for!” Téa shouted, mothering Atem and holding out a box of tissues.

“No,” Bakura argued, “ _ that  _ was three thousand years overdue.”

“You dirty snake!” Joey stood and rolled up his hoodie sleeves. “That’s a filthy trick! Why don’t ya try hittin’ on me an’ see who ends up on the floor?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type.”

Joey growled and took a step forward, but Atem held up a hand to halt him. Standing up, Atem set aside the wad of saturated tissues.

Atem raised an eyebrow, then winced as it sent more pain through his nose. “Now that you’ve broken my nose, does this settle things between us?”

Bakura shook his head. “Not even close--but help me pull this off, and I’ll think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	8. Chapter 8

After Atem's nose stopped bleeding, they arranged themselves on the couches and chairs in Yugi’s living room.

“So,” Atem began. “How do we trap Zorc?”

“First we need to drain him,” Bakura explained. “We need to get him to use his powers as much as possible to ensure he won't have enough strength to leave the Shadow Realm while we're sealing him in.”

“Alright, but  _ how _ do we seal him in? Last time I had to die first, which I’d like to avoid.”

“Last time you sealed off the entire Shadow Realm. This time I'm only asking you to trap Zorc.”

Atem stared at him. “I can't just leave the Shadows unlocked. The Millennium Items--”

“--Required the souls trapped within them to harness Shadow Magic. They won't be able to commune with the Shadows anymore. They're nothing but golden trinkets. As to how to seal Zorc… I'm not so sure on that part.”

“You're not  _ sure _ ?”

“I was hoping you'd know. After all, you were the one who sealed the Shadow Realm the last time. Can't you do what you did before only isolate it to Zorc?”

“I--that's not how it works. Besides, I…may have had help in sealing the Shadows,” Atem admitted.

Bakura glowered at him. “The gods helped you.” Atem nodded and Bakura threw up his hands.

“You know…” Yugi said, “ maybe your death had nothing to do with sealing the Shadow Realm.”

“But the Shadows reopened when he came back,” Bakura argued.

“Just because two events happen close together doesn't mean one necessarily causes the other,” Ryou pointed out.

Yugi nodded. “Atem said he asked the gods to give you and--uh, Kek, was it?--second chances too. And  _ you _ said that they couldn't have pulled you out while the Shadow Realm was still sealed. What if the gods unsealed the Shadows in order to get you out?”

“If that's the case, then why haven't they closed them again?” Marik wondered.

“Zorc is probably holding them open,” Kek said. “If he plans to come after Bakura, he’d need them to remain unsealed until he has him back in the Shadows.”

Bakura hummed in thought. “If you’re right, then that’s already draining his power. We need to get him to use more power, enough to weaken him so the gods can trap him once and for all.”

“I’ll challenge him to a Shadow Game,” Marik suggested. “Those use an enormous amount of power.”

Bakura was shaking his head before Marik even finished. “No. It’s too risky. A Shadow Game with Zorc is going to be far different from one between mortals.”

“How else do you plan on weakening and distracting him?”

Bakura frowned and crossed his arms. “He’ll cheat. He’ll find a loophole and exploit it. That’s how he got me.”

Marik sent him a cocky grin. “Then it’s a good thing I’m smarter than you.”

“Marik,” Bakura warned, but Marik held up a hand.

“We don’t have time to argue about this. It’s my risk.” He held Bakura’s eyes. “You risked yourself for me once; let me do this for you.”

Bakura felt everyone else watching them, but at that moment he didn’t care. As much as he hated the thought of being trapped in the Shadow Realm for eternity, he hated the idea of Marik trapped there even more.

“If you lose we’ll both be trapped,” Bakura whispered.

“Then I’ll just have to win, won’t I?”

Marik stepped forward and placed his hands on Bakura’s shoulders. Bakura tensed at the contact before relaxing.

“ _ La takhafu. 'Ana huna(1). _ ”

Bakura closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. Looking around at the people he was entrusting his life--his eternal soul--to, he lifted his chin and grinned.

“Who’s ready to take down a demon?”

 

X

 

“So, what’re we supposed ta do while Marik’s challengin’ the big, bad demon thing?” Joey wondered, messing with a shogi board that was sitting out on the coffee table.

Tristan shrugged and raided two pops from Yugi’s fridge before handing one to Joey. “I guess the same thing we usually do when the forces of good and evil clash--stand by the sidelines and cheer for our side to win.”

Kek snorted as he watched Joey stack game tiles. “It’s going to take more than moral support to pull this off.”

“Every little bit helps,” Téa said, a disapproving look arrowed at Kek.

“Shadow Games are about strength of will,” he pointed out.

“And you don’t think Marik will have more will to fight if he know’s we’re all rooting for him?”

Kek frowned. “I prefer a more active role.”

“We’ll have to try and keep Zorc distracted during Marik’s game,” Yugi put in.

“Yes,” Atem agreed. “The more we can divide his concentration, the better chance Marik has at winning.”

“Speaking of distraction…” Bakura muttered. He sat on one of the couches, his eyes closed and his breathing steady as he focused on the connection tying him to Zorc.

“Why are you trying to summon him here anyway?” Kek wondered. “He’s going to show up on his own sooner or later. If I were you, I’d enjoy what time I had left, not race to meet death head on.”

“He’s got a point,” came a wavery voice from the doorway. “Life is too short already; you take time to appreciate it while you still can.”

Bakura opened his eyes and glanced over to where Yugi’s grandpa stood at the top of the stairs. As far as Bakura could tell, he looked the same as the last time Bakura saw him, although perhaps a bit more haggard. Despite his stooped posture, his eyes and smile were bright, and so much like his grandson’s.

Joey and Tristan swore and Téa let out a quiet sob.

Looking around at the others, Bakura noticed they were tense, staring at the old man as if he were a stranger. Bakura saw tears streaking Yugi’s cheeks, and it dawned on him that, until just now, he hadn’t seen Yugi’s grandpa since they’d arrived...

Turning back to the old man, Bakura got to his feet and bared his teeth. “ _ Zorc _ .”

The imposter laughed, not the jovial chuckle of the man he imitated, but a cruel, spiteful cackle.

“What a nice surprise. And here I thought I’d have to hunt you down.”

“Drop that face,” Atem ordered, fists clenched as he stood protectively beside Yugi.

Zorc leered at him. “As you command.”

The face and body shifted, thinning and lengthening as it aged in reverse. An upbeat young girl with soil-dark hair smirked at Atem. Her onyx eyes met his, challenging him to object. Bakura recognized the outfit she wore, which denoted her as a magician-in-training, but her face was only vaguely familiar to him. The same was obviously not true for Atem.

“Your games will not work on us,” Atem said calmly, but Bakura noticed his hands were shaking.

Zorc noticed too, and snorted. “Clearly.”

“I want to make a deal,” Bakura said, drawing Zorc’s attention back to himself.

Zorc raised his eyebrows. “I don’t make deals with property.”

“I don’t belong to you.”

Faster than a blink, Zorc was in front of him. Zorc’s hand closed around Bakura’s throat, and Bakura fought for air that was just out of reach. Protests from the others were lost amidst the rushing that filled his ears, but when Zorc spoke, it came through crystal clear.

“It’s cute that you’re trying to act tough for this group of fools, but keep it up, and I’ll gut them while you watch--starting with that pathetic tomb brat you like. Come quietly, and I won’t have any reason to hurt them.”

Bakura choked on empty lungs, his eyes falling shut as despair settled in his belly.

Images of the others lying in gore, screaming, pleading, had bile burning Bakura's throat. How could he ask them to risk themselves for him? Too many had suffered already. Too many had died. If Bakura left with Zorc now, the gods could seal them away. No one else had to get hurt...

Marik’s voice, sharp with panic, cut through Zorc’s influence, and the debilitating hopelessness lessened. “Let go! You’re  _ killing _ him!”

“You can’t kill a man already dead inside,” the sweet voice cooed.

Bakura found himself released. He sank against the worn carpet, gasping and coughing past the pain in his throat. He felt Marik kneel beside him, a hand resting on his back.

“Come, thief.”

Just like in his dream, Bakura felt Zorc’s power tugging at him, fading him from the physical reality into the metaphysical Shadows.

“Oh no you don’t!” Marik’s arms wrapped around him, and Bakura fought the pull, using Marik’s presence as an anchor.

Zorc growled, the voice deeper, and Bakura saw he’d changed yet again, this time appearing like Marik’s father. 

“Step...away...” he said, each word a measured threat.

Bakura felt Marik’s heart pounding against his back, breathing shallow. Marik shook his head.

The cold, cruel purple eyes narrowed, and ignited red with power. “You defy me?” he asked quietly. “So be it.”

Marik screamed, bowing back and pulling at his shirt. Bakura watched in horror as Marik tore off his top, exposing long-healed wounds that now glowed with magical heat. The smell of seared flesh filled the room, and Bakura gagged. The others were yelling, trying to intervene, but Zorc held them back. Bakura’s head swam as remembered screams superimposed over the ones filling the room, people begging for mercy as they burned alive--

“ _ Stop _ !” Bakura clutched at the coarse robes Zorc wore. “Please! I'll go willingly, just--just stop…”

Zorc reigned in his power and Marik slumped to the floor, sobbing. Zorc looked down at Bakura with a wicked, victorious grin. “Good.”

“No…” Marik croaked.

Bakura's heart broke. He wanted to tell Marik everything would be alright, but the comforting lie died on his tongue. He wanted to tell Marik that the last twenty-four hours they'd spent together were the best of Bakura's existence, but knowing that Zorc would soon corrupt those memories, twist them into something grotesque, made Bakura soul-sick. So he said nothing, and hoped Marik knew how he felt.

“Ready, pet?”

Bakura hesitated, then nodded. He closed his eyes and waited for the Darkness to swallow him up once again.

“Wait!”

Bakura’s eyes snapped open to find Marik back on his feet.

“ _ Wait _ ,” he repeated. “Let's make a deal.”

“Marik, don--” Bakura’s words choked off at a gesture from Zorc.

“Be silent,” Zorc ordered. He turned his attention back to Marik. “I'm listening…”

Marik licked his lips but stood his ground, meeting eyes blazing with hellfire.

“I challenge you to a game. The stakes are double or nothing. If you win, you get to take both of us. If I win, Bakura is mine, and you leave _ all of us _ alone,” he said, encompassing the unsure faces scattering the room, “for as long as you exist.”

Zorc made an amused  _ hmmm _ and folded his arms. “What makes you think I’d even want you?”

Marik didn't respond, just raised his chin, challenge in his eyes. Zorc grinned, that sadistic, joyous grin Marik recalled from every beating his father ever gave him, and Marik couldn't suppress the tremor that slithered down his spine.

“Alright,” Zorc said at length. “We’ll play a game for him-- _ not _ Duel Monsters,” he interrupted when Marik tried to speak. “A new kind of game. A game of  _ my _ choosing.”

Marik narrowed his eyes. “What game?”

“Does it really matter? Either you agree to play or I leave with him. Decide now.”

Bakura gave an emphatic shake of his head, and Zorc captured his hair in a rough grip, stilling him. It didn’t matter. Marik had already made up his mind.

“Fine, but I want to be clear on the rules before we play.”

Zorc smirked and snapped his fingers. Between one second and the next, Bakura was gone.

“The game is Hide and Seek. I’ve hidden the thief somewhere within Domino City. If you can find him within one hour, he’s yours.” Zorc’s molten eyes gleamed at Marik. “But remember, should you lose, you become mine too.”

Marik crossed his arms over his chest. “Please, like I’m falling for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Domino City is huge. It could take me half an hour or more just to reach the edge of town if that’s where you put him, and that’s not even including searching all the buildings. I want him close by.”

Zorc stretched Marik’s father’s face into a sadistic grin that somehow managed to look proud. It was creepier than the cool cruelty of before since the expression was one Marik doubted his father ever wore.

“Clever, clever boy. Fine, he’s hidden within a five block radius. Happy?”

“No,” Marik said. Zorc had given in too easily, which only made Marik that much more suspicious. “I want automatic access to wherever you put him; no locking him behind a door or in a restricted building I could never possibly get to. And no moving him once he’s in place.”

Zorc forced out a heavy sigh. “Are you about finished?”

Marik thought through their terms, trying to see any possible loopholes. “One more: even five blocks leaves a  _ lot _ of possible hiding spots. I want the others to help me.”

Zorc shook his head before Marik even finished speaking. “No. You are the one who wanted to play for him; you will play alone. However…” Zorc smirked again, and Marik tensed up. “Since you were so  _ cunning _ and saw through my original scheme, I’m going to make things easier for you.”

Marik squinted a distrustful look at him.

“Instead of Hide and Seek, we’ll play Hot and Cold.”

Marik had never heard of that one. “How does that work?”

“Simple. Whenever you’re getting closer or farther away from where I’ve hidden him, I’ll let you know.”

“That seems like an awfully nice gesture.”

“Well?” Zorc sneered. “Do you accept the terms?”

Marik hesitated for a moment, gathering his resolve. “I accept.”

Zorc held out a weathered hand, a perfect twin to the one that, all those years ago, tore Marik’s soul in twine, cut by torturous cut. They gripped wrists and Marik felt pain shoot up his arm.

“You have one hour,” Zorc reiterated. Then he, too, was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)Egyptian: "Do not be afraid. I am here."
> 
>  
> 
> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	9. Chapter 9

The moment Zorc vanished from sight, Marik's breath froze in his lungs, the previously pleasant, air conditioned room chilled to Arctic extremes in a heartbeat. The room itself appeared unchanged. The others looked likewise unaffected, staring back at him expectantly as he shivered from a cold that didn't exist.

“Are you alright?” Yugi asked.

“I-I-I” He couldn’t speak past his chattering teeth. “In c-c-case we f-fail, make s-s-sure the S-Shadows get closed.”

Yugi opened his mouth, looking ready to protest. Atem laid a hand on Yugi’s shoulder. They shared a look, and Yugi nodded, worry and sorrow dimming his bright eyes.

Knowing he didn’t have time to waste, Marik took a shaky step forward, his limbs slow to respond.

He felt a warm arm wrap around his waist and looked up into Kek’s face. A part of Marik wanted to flinch away, but he could hardly move as it was. Kek caught his eye, and Marik saw some unreadable emotion there. Before he could interpret it, they were hobbling toward the stairs, and he had to focus on placing one foot in front of the other. It felt like it took ages to reach the game shop’s entrance, but in reality it was only a couple of minutes--precious minutes he couldn’t afford.

Despite the summer sun sending heat waves shimmying from the pavement, Marik felt as if he stood amidst a blizzard. The same mild breeze that kissed Kek’s sweating brow cut at Marik like hail, chilling him deeper. He was so distracted by the cold, he didn’t realize they’d reached his bike until Kek--already astride--tried to pull Marik on behind him.

“You c-can’t c-come wi--”

“You can’t even walk right now. How the hell do you plan to drive?”

Marik just shook his head. Kek held his eyes for a long moment. Finally, sighing, he dismounted and helped Marik astride.

“You’d better come back from this,” Kek growled. “We have shit to talk about.”

Marik didn’t even spare a thought on what Kek might have to say to him--that could wait. Right now, all that mattered was finding Bakura.

It took a few tries to kick the bike to life. Kek stepped back as the motor revved. He gave Marik a silent nod. Marik nodded back, then sped out into the unnaturally abandoned streets.

 

X

 

The city had become a ghost town since they’d first arrived at the game shop. The haze of Shadow Magic polluted the air like smog, making it difficult to breathe. Bakura had been right: this felt different from all the Shadow Games Marik had played before. The magic was thicker, almost a physical sensation as it brushed against him.

The further Marik drove, the more the cold receded. It became a slight chill, then warmed, like midwinter sunlight on a cloudless day. Once he took a wrong turn, and the cold returned in a snap. Marik did a reckless and highly-illegal U-turn, about-facing to follow the warmth.

It wasn’t until he was parked and dismounting that Marik realized he was at the Kaiba Corp headquarters. Looking up the length of the building, Marik estimated it had no less than thirty floors. A sinking feeling started deep in his gut, but he stepped forward and entered the building unchallenged. Like the streets outside, Kaiba Corp was completely deserted.

Marik stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for five floors up, then five more when he felt no cold. Sweat began to gather at his temples and roll down his spine as he rose up the skyscraper. It wasn’t until he arrived at and then passed floor twenty-seven that the sweat froze against his skin. The moment the car stopped at the top floor, Marik reversed course back to level twenty-seven, breathing a relieved sigh as he was rewarded with a cozy warmth.

The elevator dinged open onto a corridor that was indistinguishable from all the others Marik had glimpsed on his tour up the building. Uninspiring off-white walls stretched ahead, intermittent with polished oak doors.

Marik assumed the building was air conditioned, but the air around him felt like a sauna as he made his way past one door, then another, then another. His shirt was soaked through before he was halfway down the hall. Then he was at the end, panting in air as dry and hot as the midday desert.

Then he turned the corner, and it was as if he stood too close to a bonfire, his skin uncomfortably hot. Marik braced against the discomfort, holding his ground but not progressing further for fear of what came next.

How long had he been at this? How much time had passed since he’d shaken hands with Zorc? Marik had no way of knowing, and his sense of time was too distorted to hazard a guess. But even as he stood there, the seconds ticking into minutes he couldn’t get back, Marik knew the time limit was the least of his concerns.

The worst part was, he had no way of knowing how much further he had to go. Was he almost to Bakura’s location? Or was Zorc just fucking with him? Did it matter? Even if he was almost there, with how bad the pain was now, Marik couldn’t imagine it getting much worse.

That’s when Marik realized the challenge of the game wasn’t finding Bakura--he was practically being told where Bakura was--but in forcing himself forward through the pain in order to reach his destination.

Sucking in an unsteady breath, Marik took one more step.

The pain intensified, and suddenly it was as if he were burning alive. Marik fell to his knees, lost to the pain as memories of his initiation flooded him. Instinct kicked in and Marik scuttled backward. The pain receded to a dull throb of warning. Panting, Marik looked at his hands, expecting to see them charred, or at least smoking, but the most they did was shake.

Marik had always thought that burning alive was the worst possible way to die. Did Zorc know that and was using it against him? Or was this simply an easy way to torture Marik and prevent him from reaching Bakura at the same time?

As if summoned by his thoughts, Zorc laughed from behind him. This time he appeared looking like Bakura.

“You're running out of time,” Zorc taunted, gesturing to a countdown clock on the wall that hadn't been there seconds before. It read seven minutes and fifty-five seconds. Fifty-four...fifty-three...fifty-two... “You really should have listened to the thief; it was foolish to challenge me.”

Marik ignored him, shifting forward to crawl another foot toward the only door this hallway had, before retreating once more with a whimper when the flames engulfed him.

Zorc laughed again, that insane laugh Marik recalled from Battle City--the one that Bakura had let loose as he casually stabbed himself in the arm. He remembered not only the crazy gleam in Bakura’s eyes, but the perverse rush he’d felt at watching Bakura mutilate himself for Marik’s sake. The memory made Marik shiver despite the illusionary heat, a part of himself cringing at his own nature.

“Less than five minutes now,” Zorc drawled.

Marik couldn’t think enough to reply. He sat there, staring at that clock as it ticked away the final moments of freedom he and Bakura had left. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to move. As the thought flitted through his mind, the tears fell.

Marik flinched as Zorc’s hand ran through his hair, petting him. He felt hot breath against his cheek and closed his eyes. He was supposed to be rescuing Bakura, but a part of him wished Bakura could save him.

“The three of us are going to have so much fun,” Zorc purred, his voice like snagged silk against Marik’s ear. “You reignited that spark in him. He’d grown so...indifferent, dispassionate--boring.”

Zorc kissed from Marik’s ear to his shoulder, and Marik drew away in revulsion. Zorc smirked at him, but no pain flared.

“I have to thank you for offering yourself to me,” Zorc whispered. “In trying to save him, you’ve given me the key to his undoing.”

Something in Marik snapped. He stared at the clock: two minutes and six seconds left.

This wasn’t going to end like this. Slowly, Marik stood up. He was aware Zorc was speaking to him, but the words were far away. They didn’t matter, anyway.

Marik took a step toward the door centered on the hallway wall. Pain flashed over him, but it was as if it belonged to someone else. He ignored it and took another step, then another, and another, until he felt the handle on the door beneath his hand. Turning it, he pushed open the door.

Bakura looked up, shock plain on his face. In a far corner of his mind, Marik thought that was amusing.

Without seeming to move, Marik found himself in front of Bakura. Marik’s hand shook as he reached out to stroke Bakura’s cheek. He felt his lips stretch into a smile as their skin met.

“I win,” he heard himself say. Then he was falling, and the office faded away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	10. Chapter 10

Bakura was the first thing Marik became aware of when he came to. He was cradling Marik in his lap, stroking his face as he crooned softly in Middle Egyptian.

“Shhhh. Hey, there you are.”

“Bakura? What happened?”

Bakura opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by familiar, spiteful laughter.

Marik turned his head to see Zorc--still mimicking Bakura--a few feet from them, surrounded by undulating, whispering Darkness. As Marik came back to himself, panic set in, and he bolted up to look around at the malevolent nothing all around them.

“I don’t understand,” Marik said, staring at Bakura’s grim face. “I won.” When Bakura said nothing, Marik gripped his arm, his nails biting into flesh. “I had two minutes left! I  _ won _ !”

“No,” Bakura croaked. “You didn’t.” Bakura looked away from Marik’s uncomprehending face. “It took you over two hours to find me. Zorc was just messing with you at the end, letting you think you’d won when you hadn’t.”

“But...but I…” Marik’s face stung as he began to sob. “No…”

Bakura pulled him close, rocking them as Marik cried for them both.

“Don’t you two make a pretty pair,” Zorc drawled. “I must say, you surprised me at the end, there. I honestly expected you to give up.”

“Fuck off!” Marik shouted, pulling back from Bakura.

Marik’s throat closed up, and even though he knew,  _ knew _ he didn’t need to breathe here, his lungs burned for want of oxygen.

“I see I’m going to have to break you in the way I did the thief,” Zorc said, sounding more eager than angry.

Zorc looked around suddenly, and the invisible grip on Marik’s throat released. Marik sucked in lungfuls of non-existent air.

“It seems I’m popular today,” Zorc commented. Turning a mocking smile on Bakura, he added, “I’ll leave you to give our new friend the tour.”

Then Zorc was gone.

“Why would he leave us alone?” Marik wondered. “Doesn’t he expect us to try and escape?”

“You’re never alone in the Shadow Realm,” Bakura said, looking around at the unnatural Darkness meaningfully.

“I’m sorry,” Marik whispered.

Bakura shook his head, his hand drying Marik’s cheeks. “Don’t apologize. It was a long shot anyway.”

Marik looked around, as if a solution were hidden in the dark. “I had dreams of the Shadow Realm. I think they were visions of my other self--of Kek.”

Bakura didn’t respond, just waiting for Marik to continue. “I saw a bit of what Zorc put him through--making him relive all the shit our father did to us. I pretended it was nothing, just nightmares--I’ve had plenty of those over the years too. But deep down I knew they weren’t just dreams.

“I told myself he deserved it, that he ruined my life--he killed my father, tried to kill my siblings, took over my body--but I was the one who pushed all of those horrible things into him. I couldn’t deal with them, so I made him deal with them instead. And then, when he lashed out from the anger and pain I’d forced on him, I trapped him here and moved on with my life as if he’d never existed.”

Marik looked into Bakura’s face and saw everything he felt reflected there: sorrow, guilt, regret.

“The gods gave him a soul even though he wasn’t theirs,” Marik continued quietly. “They gave him a soul and I never even bothered to give him a name.”

“He asked me if you hated him for what he did. I think he wants to make amends as much as you do.”

Marik sighed and leaned into Bakura’s chest. “Not like it matters now.”

Bakura rubbed Marik’s arm for a minute. Then he smacked it lightly and nudged Marik with his shoulder. “Alright, get off.”

Marik frowned as Bakura put a measure of space between them. “Why?”

“We’ve come this far,” Bakura said, jaw clenched. “I want to end this.”

“What do you mean, ‘end this?’”

“I was thinking a lot during the two hours you were looking for me, and something occurred to me. The Shadows created Zorc, but he draws his power from the Shadows. What if that wasn’t intentional?”

Marik blinked at Bakura. “So what if it wasn’t?”

Bakura held up a hand. “Just listen a second. If the Shadows created Zorc, and he can pull power from them, then they must have some sort of connection. What doesn’t make sense is: why would a malevolent sentience like the Shadows--which feed on negative emotion and pain--create a being like Zorc that would drain them of their power?”

Marik shook his head and hoped Bakura would get to the point.

“They wouldn’t--at least not intentionally. The Shadows can’t leave here, but they would need some way of luring victims here. They would need an agent that could pass between this realm and the physical world. So what if they created Zorc to be that agent?”

“That’s an interesting theory, but I still don’t see--”

“Zorc must have a bond with the Shadows similar to the bond he has with me,” Bakura interrupted, on a roll now. “He must have figured out at some point how to pull power from the Shadows instead of them pulling power from him. If I can figure out how to do the same thing, perhaps I could weaken him enough for the others to trap him in here--and with any luck, use that power to get us the fuck out.”

Bakura stared expectantly at Marik, who stared back.

“Well,” Marik said finally, “I hope you’re a quick study.”

 

X

 

“It’s been over two hours,” Tristan said, glancing at the others.

“They could be on their way back now,” Téa pointed out.

“And if they aren’t, we need a new plan,” Yugi said, pacing around the kitchen.

“Can’t the gods just pull Marik and Bakura back out?” Ryou asked.

“They did it last time as a favor to me,” Atem said. “Whether or not they’ll do it again--”

“Then ask them!” Kek yelled, glaring at him. “The only reason Marik and Bakura are in this mess is because they were trying to fix what the gods screwed up!”

“I have been. They aren’t answering me.” He looked around at the others. “We need to seal the Shadows.”

“You want to trap them in there with Zorc?” Kek asked, incredulous.

“I don’t  _ want _ to, but if we can’t get them out--”

“There’s got to be a way to get them back,” Yugi said. “We wouldn’t give up if it were you in there,” he added when Atem made to protest. “I’m not giving up on them.”

Atem nodded. “So what do we do next?”

“Call Zorc,” Ryou said.

“Oh, ya.” Joey rolled his eyes. “‘Cuz that worked out _ great  _ the last time.”

“Bakura said Zorc would need to be drained of power in order to seal him away anyway. Maybe if we stall long enough, it will give Marik and Bakura a chance to escape on their own.”

“You think they can?” Atem asked.

“You don’t know Bakura like I do,” Ryou told him. “He doesn’t give up. If there’s any way out of the Shadows, any crack to slip through, Bakura will find it.”

Atem’s face set, determination in his eyes. “Then let’s buy them the time they need.”

 

X

 

So many feelings came to mind when Marik thought of the Shadow Realm, but  _ boredom _ wasn’t one he’d anticipated. However, that’s exactly what Marik felt as he watched Bakura meditate. He’d tried going for a walk, but he hadn’t gotten more than a few feet away before he found himself right beside Bakura again.

_ At least we won’t get separated _ , Marik thought to himself.

It was no wonder Bakura had lost his mind in here. Torture and loneliness notwithstanding, three millennia with absolutely no mental stimulation would send anyone over the bend.

Marik barely refrained from sighing out loud as he laid on his back. He recalled moments like this from his dreams about Kek--endless stretches of time staring at endless stretches of Darkness. Marik wondered if, when Kek went to sleep at night, he would see Marik’s time in the Shadows the way Marik had his…

Marik bolted to a sitting position. “I wonder…”

“Wonder what?” Bakura asked.

“Sh!”

Marik closed his eyes and Bakura frowned at him. “You’re the one who--”

“I said ‘sh!’”

Bakura growled but went back to meditating.

Marik focused inward, trying to find that place deep within himself, that safe place. He wasn’t used to seeking it out; it was somewhere he just slipped off to sometimes when things became too much to handle. But he knew he’d been there during the dreams, and if he could find it, maybe…

Something in him fell into place, and Kek’s thoughts drifted in his head.

_ Kek! _

Marik felt Kek startle through the connection, shock and disbelief reaching through as if it were his own.

_ Marik? What the fuck? How are you--? _

_ I don’t know. Look, I don’t know how much time we have, so I’ll make this quick. I lost the Shadow Game, and Bakura and I are stuck in the Shadow Realm. _

_ Yeah, we figured. We’re keeping Zorc busy so you can try and find a way out. Any progress on that? _

_ So that’s where Zorc went…Bakura’s got an idea, but it might take some time. _

_ Yugi and Ryou challenged him to another Shadow Game. If they lose, it’s going to start getting crowded in there. _

_ What’s the Game? _

_ Yugi convinced Zorc into letting them play Duel Monsters. They’re dragging it out as long as they can, but you guys should hurry. _

_ We’ll do our best. _

Marik dropped the connection and opened his eyes to see Bakura gaping at him.

“What?”

“What were you just doing?”

“Uh...talking to Kek? He says Yugi and Ryou are keeping Zorc occupied with another Shadow Game until we find a way out.”

“You--” Bakura blinked at him. “You were pulling the Shadows.”

“I was?”

Bakura nodded. “How did you do it?”

“It was sort of like a Mind Link, but long distance.”

“Not the conversation! How did you harness the Shadows without a Millennium Item?”

“I don’t know! I just focused on the link between Kek and me and it just sort of happened on its own. I wasn’t even aware I was pulling power.”

Bakura frowned. “I suppose in order to make the mental connection, you’d need to power it somehow, and we’re surrounded by Shadow Magic.”

Bakura closed his eyes and focused once more on the elusive connection in his mind that tied him to Necrophades. He grabbed it in a mental hold, and this time focused not on pulling anything through it, but pushing his mind into it.

The familiar rush of Shadow Magic thrummed through him, and Bakura let out a triumphant laugh as he wrapped Marik in a crushing hug.

“Marik Ishtar, you are a godsdamned  _ genius _ !” Pulling back he grinned broadly and began siphoning power through the link in the back of his mind. “Have Kek tell them to hold on a bit longer--we’re busting the fuck out of here!”

 

X

 

Ryou stared at his hand and saw his fate written there as plainly as if he held Tarot rather than Duel Monsters cards. Would the others try again when he and Yugi lost? Surely Atem wouldn’t let Yugi rot in the Shadows, and Yugi wouldn’t leave the rest of them. Ryou wished Bakura and Marik would hurry up already…

“Play a card, or forfeit your turn,” Zorc snapped.

He’d grown more and more impatient with their stalling tactics, and Ryou feared they would only be able to drag this out one more round before Zorc finished them off. The crease in Yugi’s brow said clearly enough he felt the same.

Ryou sighed and laid Change of Heart face down. “I end my turn.”

Yugi drew his card, and Ryou took the moment to stare openly at Zorc, who smirked knowingly back at him, tossing his long, blue braid over his shoulder.

Ryou thought the illusion was perfect, but he honestly didn’t know. It had been so long since he’d seen Amane, and he’d been so young. The golden brown eyes, like his mother’s, and deep blue hair, like his father’s, seemed to match his memory of her, but perhaps that was a false memory. How would he know the difference?

“That ends my turn,” Yugi said, dejected. He turned to meet Ryou’s eyes, and Ryou knew in that instant it was over, even before Zorc drew his card.

“I play Raigeki,” Zorc’s cherubic voice announced with relish. “Do you counter?”

Yugi laid his hand face down on the table in defeat. “No.”

Ryou shook his head, and Zorc giggled like the little girl he was pretending to be.

“Then I attack you directly. I win.”

Ryou thought he should be afraid, knowing what was coming next, but all he felt was disappointment. They hadn’t stalled long enough. They’d let Marik and Bakura down.

“Don’t be sad,” Zorc mocked. “You’ll soon be reuniting with your friends.”

“This isn’t over, Zorc,” Yugi said, far more confident than Ryou felt in that moment. “We won’t stop fighting you!”

“Then I guess I’m going to have to make room for all of my new toys. Ready?”

Ryou met Kek’s eyes across the room, and Kek nodded. They would keep the fight going until they won--or until every last one of them was lost to the Shadows.

Closing his eyes, Ryou waited to fall into the endless pit of nightmares, and hoped Bakura’s plan could accommodate more than two people.

“ _ What the-- _ ?”

Zorc roared, and Ryou’s eyes flashed open again. There, naked and tangled in a pile on the floor, sat Marik and Bakura where Zorc had just been. Bakura was panting and holding his side like he’d just run a race.

“Seal it!” Bakura shouted at the ceiling.

Ryou wasn’t sure who he was addressing, then realized it was the gods. Nothing seemed to happen for a long moment, then Atem gasped, gripping the back of a chair.

“Zorc is fighting them,” Atem said. “They can't get the seal to close.”

Bakura growled. Clenching his eyes, he focused once again on his bond with Zorc. He pulled at the power, but it was harder now, the distractions of his physical body disrupting his concentration.

“I can't pull much more from him,” Bakura grit out, shaking as dark magic practically oozed from his pores. “A human body wasn't meant to harness this much Shadow Magic at once.”

Marik's hand gripped Bakura's, and their eyes met. “Send it back.”

“What?”

“All the power you took, whip it back at him. He won't expect it. Maybe it will break his concentration long enough for the gods to close the seal.”

Bakura nodded, sweat forming at his temples as he pulled a bit more power. Spindling it, he forced it right back the other direction, groaning as the power left him in a breathtaking rush. A scream resounded through the connection, then silence, and Bakura sank to the floor as the bond severed completely.

Bakura's ragged breathing was loud in the tense silence. He looked around and met eyes with everyone else before looking expectantly at Atem. “Well?”

Atem closed his eyes for a long moment. His shoulders sank with a deep sigh. “It’s done.”

“It had better be,” Bakura growled, “because I am  _ not _ going through that again.” He went to wipe his brow with his shirt, only to realize he wasn’t wearing one. “Oh,  _ gods-fucking-damnit _ ! Not again!” he shouted, covering himself with his hands.

Marik doubled over with laughter, too giddy with relief to be concerned about his own lack of clothes.

Yugi ran out and returned with a pair of jeans for each of them. They were short on both of them, but they made them work.

“You guys have some damn lucky timin’,” Joey commented.

“Yeah, we thought Yugi and Ryou were gonners for sure!” Tristan added.

“ _ You guys _ ,” Téa hissed, smacking them. She smiled at Marik and Bakura. “They’re joking. We knew you’d pull it off.”

“Yeah, how  _ did _ ya manage that, anyway?” Joey asked.

“I drained Zorc’s power while you guys distracted him, them used it to Mystic Box our asses out of the Shadow Realm.”

“Come again?” Ryou asked.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Marik said, catching Kek’s eye.

“Make us food and we’ll fill you in,” Bakura said, raiding Yugi’s fridge.

“Deal,” Yugi said, pushing Bakura out of the kitchen and gathering ingredients. “Start from the Shadow Game…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	11. Epilogue

**_One year later._ **

 

Bakura groaned as Marik collapsed on top of him, sweaty and satiated.

“So,” Marik mumbled when his breathing had evened out, “Ryou and Kek invited us over tomorrow. Apparently it's their turn to host Game Night. I told them we'd bring the beer.”

“We should get a keg given how much we went through last time.”

“Yeah. Can you believe how much Yugi drank--and he wasn’t even hungover the next day!”

Bakura grunted. “He's a gods’ honest dwarf.”

Marik laughed and nuzzled into Bakura's chest. “Think Atem will be able to convince Kaiba to come this week?”

“Who knows. So far he’s avoided being totally absorbed into the Friendship Cult.”

Marik tugged at a lock of hair draped over Bakura’s shoulder.

“Speaking of avoiding people, Ishizu asked when we were coming over for dinner.”

Bakura frowned. “Never.”

“Bakura,” Marik sighed, exasperated.

“Everytime we go over there she’s nagging and fussing.” He assumed a high pitched, proper cadence that sounded nothing like Marik’s sister. “‘Bakura, your hair’s getting shaggy. Would you like me to cut it? Marik, I wish you wouldn’t ride that thing. It’s so dangerous! Marik, when are you and Bakura getting married?’”

Marik grinned, biting his lip. “That’s what older siblings do.”

“No, that’s what _mother’s_ do,” Bakura corrected.

“Well, I suppose she sort of took on that roll too,” Marik said quietly, fiddling with Bakura’s hair. “But it’s nice, isn’t it? Having people care enough _to_ nag you?”

Bakura grunted in agreement and gave Marik’s waist a brief squeeze.

“Besides, I already told her we’d be over on Sunday.”

Bakura rolled his eyes. “Of course you did. Well, at least Rishid will be there as a buffer. _He_ at least knows to keep his opinions to himself--a rare quality for an Ishtar.”

“Like you’re any better.”

Bakura smirked at him, and Marik felt his heart stutter as he looked back into eyes like overcast skies and rain-drenched earth. Marik smiled and traced the scar trailing down below the gray one. If he looked long enough, he could still see the torment of three-thousand years hidden there, but it was smaller now, cast out to make room for newer, better memories. It made Marik proud that he was a part of that, that he had helped drive some of that darkness way.

“What, do I have something on my face?” Bakura chuckled at his own joke.

“As a matter of fact,” Marik agreed, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss against Bakura’s quirked lips. “There. I think I got it.”

“Still feels like there’s something there,” Bakura murmured, eyes lidded.

Marik grinned and kissed him again, longer this time. “Better?”

“Almost.” Bakura pulled Marik to him a third time and rolled them over.

“You realize I have to get ready for work in like an hour,” Marik sighed out, hands smoothing over Bakura’s latticed back as Bakura began rocking against him.

“I can do a lot in one hour.”

Bakura demonstrated his point by kissing along Marik’s jaw, over his shoulder, and down his pec before working Marik’s nipple gently between his lips. Marik’s hands gripped Bakura’s biceps as he moaned, and Bakura gave the other nipple the same treatment.

“Why do you always work me up before I have to leave for work? It makes it hard to concentrate on my shift.”

“Good. Maybe thinking of me jerking you off will keep you from flirting with all of the drunk girls,” Bakura said as he began to do just that, his hand tugging a slow rhythm on Marik’s cock.

“ _Mph_ ! You’re not jealous, are you? Because the generous tips-- _ah, yes_! Just like that--those tips those drunk girls leave help pay for this apartment.”

Bakura snorted. “Flirt with whomever you want. I don’t care as long as they keep their hands off.”

Marik let out a breathless chuckle. “What could they give me when you’re everything I could ever want?”

Bakura paused to stare at Marik, and Marik groaned at the lost stimulation.

“You mean that?”

Marik leveled lidded eyes at him. “Of course. We literally went to hell and back together. You think I’d do that for just anyone?”

Bakura crawled further up Marik’s body and stroked the hair from his face. “I…” Bakura swallowed.

Marik cupped the back of Bakura’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “I know. Me too.”

Bakura kissed him back, fervent as he began to stroke them both together. Marik called out as their cocks slid against each other and Bakura’s hand.

Marik groaned against Bakura’s neck as the pace increased. “Oh, _gods_ , Bakura! Don’t stop.”

Bakura grunted, panting into Marik’s hair as he revelled in the high only Marik could give him. Soon, too soon, he was climbing. He slowed down to drag out the moment, but Marik protested and laid his hand over Bakura’s, pumping faster.

Knowing Marik was close drove Bakura over the edge. He continued to stroke Marik, a high of a different sort joined his afterglow as Marik gave a final, loud groan and shook against him.

Bakura twined their fingers together and rested his forehead against Marik’s as they caught their breath.

“ _Merwet tew(1)_ ,” Bakura panted. Marik’s hand squeezed his, and Bakura had never felt so much in such a small gesture.

“ _Ahbk 'aydaan(2)_ , Bakura.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)"I love you" in Middle Egyptian.
> 
> (2)"I love you, too" in Egyptian Arabic.
> 
>  
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> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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